Thursday, July 9, 2020
Words Turn Me On: ✯ ✰ New Release ~ Wanted by R.E. Hargrave ✯ ✰: Title: Wanted Author: R. E. Hargrave Genre: Contemporary Romance Hosted by Words Turn Me On #Wanted Hyde Johnson...
(Northern Circle Coven #3)
Published by: Lyrical Press
Publication date: July 7th 2020
Genres: Adult, Paranormal
A searing battle of hearts, minds, and magic . . .The Northern Circle coven’s future is in question once again. But this time, hearts and souls are on the line, making the stakes higher, the magic more crucial, and the battle more fateful than ever before . . .Pregnant and alone at twenty-one, Chandler Parrish sought refuge within the Northern Circle coven’s secluded complex. Never revealing the identity of her child’s father, Chandler has raised her now eight-year-old son, Peregrine, in peace, and used her talent as an artist and welder to become a renowned metal sculptor. But her world is shaken to the core when Peregrine shows signs of natural faerie sight—a rare and dangerous gift to see through faerie glamour and disguises that could only have come from his father’s genes. Worse yet, the boy has seen a monstrous faerie creature trailing Lionel Parker, a magic-obsessed journalist determined to expose the witching world.But the very man who threatens the witches’ anonymity may also be key to healing Chandler’s long broken heart. As dangerous desires and shocking secrets entangle, new faerie threats and demonic foes close in on the coven and High Council. Loyalties will be tested. Fierce magics will be called upon. And Chandler will have to face her past to save all she holds dear: her coven, her child—and perhaps even her own soul.
Burlington’s flying monkeys. The originals were crafted out of steel decades ago.
I created mine out of car parts and garden tools as a gift to my son on his third birthday.
Truly, if I could have made them fly, I would have.
—WPZI interview with artist Chandler Parrish
Chandler set the hand grinder aside and flipped up the visor of her welding helmet. She studied the fist-size heart on the workbench in front of her and smiled, pleased with the results. If she could just find the perfect strands of wire to use for the arteries and veins, the heart would be ready to install.
She glanced across the workshop to where her latest flying monkey sculpture crouched on a rusty oil drum. It was crafted from scrap metal like its predecessors. But this one was going to be an updated model with a trapdoor in its chest and a heart—a cross between the Tin Man and the flying monkeys of Oz fame.
“Mama?” Her son’s voice came from behind her.
“Yeah?” She turned to see what he wanted.
Peregrine stood in the workshop’s open doorway, silhouetted against the autumn-orange leaves of a maple that sheltered the entry. Dirt smeared his jeans. His wild blond hair was tangled. Her chest swelled with joy. If she could ask the Gods and Goddesses for anything, it would be for his life to remain as carefree as that of the eight-year-old he was right now.
“Devlin sent me to get you. Some guy’s waiting in the main house.”
“Who is it?” Chandler asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. The guy saw a shapeshifter turn into a loup-garou. Wish I’d seen it.”
Chandler pulled off her welding helmet and thumped it down on the workbench. Damn it. Their mystery visitor had to be the journalist. His spotting a shapeshifter transforming in public—illegally, of course—wasn’t that recent of news, but his dogged interest in the event, and his intrusion into the Northern Circle coven’s ongoing issues in general, was proving to be a major pain. Actually, she was shocked he’d showed up here at the coven’s complex. A couple of days ago, two coven members had paid him a not-so-friendly visit at the fleabag motel where he’d been staying to discover if he truly was a threat to the witching world’s anonymity, or if he’d only come across as crazy to the average person.
“Devlin thinks the guy’s lying,” Peregrine added.
“Even if Devlin did believe him, he couldn’t tell the journalist what he saw was real, right?”
“I don’t think Devlin likes him.”
“That’s because the journalist is a troublemaker.” She walked over to Peregrine and smoothed her hand down his cheek. At twenty-five, Devlin was younger than she by almost four years, but that made him no less wise. He was Ivy League smart, a powerful witch with polished good looks and a kind heart that made him perfect for the Circle’s high priest position. She gentled her voice. “Do you know where Brooklyn is?”
Peregrine nodded. “She and Midas are making dinner.”
“I need you to go help them until the visitor leaves. Okay?”
Peregrine stuck out his bottom lip in a pout. “Can’t I just listen? I wanna hear about the loup-garou. Please?”
“Not this time.” She crouched, looked him in the eyes, and turned on her mama-dragon voice. “You need to stay away from this man. He’s dangerous. Understand?”
“He didn’t look dangerous to me. He just talked kinda funny.”
“No arguing. I want you to hang out with Brooklyn and Midas. I’ll tell you all about it later.”
Peregrine glanced over his shoulder toward the yard, then his gaze whipped back to her. “What do redcaps really look like?”
Chandler shook her head. Peregrine’s ability to shift seamlessly from one topic to another never ceased to amaze her. “Where in the Goddesses’ name did that question come from?”
He tucked his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Just wonderin’.” He stole another glance behind him. His voice trembled a little. “Do they really dip their hats in blood?”
Chandler straightened to her full height. Hands on her hips, she followed his gaze. There was nothing unfamiliar or strange in their yard or in the parking lot beyond it, except for an old, lime-green Volkswagen Beetle in front of the main house, undoubtedly the journalist’s ride.
A spark of fear flickered to life inside her, a fear she’d prayed she’d never have to face. “Did you see something strange?”
“There was this creepy person-thing next to that guy’s car.”
In two swift motions, she pulled him all the way inside and slammed the door shut. Heat and the thrum of protective magic blazed up the dragon and monkey tattoos on her arms and across her shoulders. She studied the yard again through the door’s window, hoping to spot a fox or a mangy racoon. Something. Anything.
Peregrine wriggled in beside her, his breath fogging the windowpane. “It kinda looked like the drawings of redcaps I’ve seen in books.”
She scrubbed her fingers over the soft bristle of her close-cropped hair. Shit. Shit. Shit. Not this. Anything but this. Peregrine was the age when most witches’ abilities manifested. And—though she rarely thought of him—Peregrine’s biological father possessed the gift of faery sight, an ability to see through the glamour faeries used to make themselves invisible; fae such as redcaps. The gift was rare nowadays because the gene pool of witches with the ability had shrunk to a handful, after eons of them being murdered or blinded by the fae, who preferred to remain concealed. It was an extraordinarily dangerous gift for the few adults who possessed it. But for an eight-year-old boy? For her boy?
She wrapped an arm around Peregrine’s shoulder, snugging him closer. “Are you a hundred percent sure you saw something?”
Maybe? Her tension eased a fraction. In truth, it could have been nothing more than wishful thinking on Peregrine’s part, combined with an imagination as active as hers. Even if he had seen a faery, it could have been a benign and unglamoured one that Brooklyn had invited into the complex to help with her herbs and concoctions.
A movement caught Chandler’s eye. Something coyote-size and hunched low to the ground was creeping out from behind the Volkswagen. It slunk along, dragging something—
Chandler shrieked. A body! A child.
She pushed Peregrine behind her, then eased the door open just far enough to get a better view. She had to have been mistaken. It couldn’t be carrying a child.
The creature swiveled to look at her. It dropped the body. Tufts of straw trailed from where the child was missing an arm.
Chandler let out a relieved breath. She recognized the child and the creature now. “There’s nothing to worry about,” she said. “It’s just Henry with Brooklyn’s scarecrow.” Well, there wasn’t anything to worry about as long as Brooklyn didn’t see Henry, Devlin’s golden retriever, making off with her straw man. If she did, there’d be hell to pay.
Peregrine wiggled past her to look. “I wasn’t afraid of nothin’. And that isn’t what I saw. What I saw was bigger. A lot bigger.” He fanned his arms, indicating something twice as tall and large as the scrap-metal rhinoceros that she’d sold to a client last month, impossibly larger than a redcap.
She gave him a side-eye look. Now he was fibbing, except…
A chill traveled up her arms, prickling against the magic in her tattoos. But what if—other than the size—it wasn’t a fib? What if he did have the sight like his father?
Pat Esden would love to say she spent her childhood in intellectual pursuits. The truth is she was fonder of exploring abandoned houses and old cemeteries. When not out on her own adventures, she can be found in her northern Vermont home writing stories about brave, smart women and the men who capture their hearts.She is the author of the contemporary fantasy Dark Heart series from Kensington Books, and the Northern Circle Coven series. Her short fiction has appeared in a number of publications, including Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show, the Mythopoeic Society's Mythic Circle, George Scither's Cat Tales Anthology, and the Fragments of Darkness anthology.
Oops, My Bad
Publication date: July 6th 2020
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance
The rules were simple—don’t fall for the handsome vet. Oops! Some rules are meant to be broken.The light turned red and suddenly my whole life changed. I found myself lying in the middle of the street with two little yellow eyes staring at me.Then he appeared. Logan. Tall, sexy, built. I’d prayed that Superman would show up to save me, but Logan’s even better. Except that he seems more interested in saving the cat I almost ran over.Since I can’t pay the vet bills for my unwelcome new guest, I’m forced to accept a job in his veterinary clinic as a receptionist. Not a great fit for someone who’s known since childhood that all animals have it in for her. And Logan seems to be more on their side than mine.Of course, there’s nothing that says I can’t also unfurl my claws and be a sex kitten for the hot veterinarian. He’s got just one rule: don’t get emotionally involved.Simple, no?Not when the damn test comes back positive.What can I say? Someone’s in trouble . . . and it’s not the cat.Oops, my bad.
Only 99¢ for a limited time!
I hate orange. I hate the cold. And I hate this stupid scooter.
Don’t get me wrong; usually I’m a sunny and positive person, but right now, with my butt frozen and a nose that’s redder than Rudolph’s, my positivity has vanished. Died. Disappeared. Been sucked into a big black hole. Or maybe been flushed down the toilet like the dead goldfish you have to quickly replace in order not to traumatize your little brother.
Not that I ever did that, you understand. Okay, maybe something like that might have happened once—or actually, ten times. I mean, it’s not my fault those dumb goldfish kept coming up to the surface with their creepy little mouths open. I thought they were hungry! Later I realized they’d decided on their own to put an end to their miserable little lives when they realized the grave error they’d made ending up in a bowl on a shelf above the dining-room table in the house where I also happened to live. So many tiny red Samurai soldiers committing seppuku, except with food instead of swords.
It was even kind of poetic. Except for the ending, where all that poetry ended up flushed down the toilet. The life of a goldfish is truly miserable. After the tenth suicide, my parents threw in the towel, something I would probably have done after the first one, and confessed to my little brother the tragic fate of his beloved pet.
I’m pretty sure he threw a thank-God-she’s-gone party when I finally left home to go to college. Now he has a whole aquarium full of multicolored fish. Oddly enough, none of them have ended up in the toilet.
Anyway, going back to the things I’m not happy with in my life, the color orange is probably first on the list. I mean, in what universe would a sane person willingly wear orange clothing? Stranger still, who came up with the idea that a pizza-delivery person should dress like a carrot that’s been regurgitated by Bugs Bunny? I admit I’ve looked worse, though. The Little Caesar’s uniform probably isn’t even one-tenth as hideous as the chicken costume I had to wear to advertise the chicken wings sold by—wait for it—El Pollo Loco! Quite an original idea, you must admit—dressing up as a chicken to promote the wings at Pollo Loco. Needless to say, I was fired before the end of my first week.
Anyway, now I’m a new version of myself. Now I’m a pizza-delivery person with a frozen ass and a stupid orange hat under my helmet. But as long as it pays the bills, I guess I can’t complain.
I have one last delivery to make and then I can finally go home, burrow under the covers, and sleep like a rock. If I manage to keep this job long enough to pay off my overdue bills, maybe in a couple of months I’ll even be able to take a shower with hot water! Or eat something that isn’t Cup O’Noodles. My mouth is watering already at the mere thought of getting to savor some real food. Maybe I can even splurge and buy myself a bottle of wine. I can already imagine myself lounging in my teensy bathtub submerged in bubbles, sipping a glass of Two-Buck Chuck.
With this comforting image in mind, I twist the accelerator and continue down Madison Avenue. The streets are almost deserted because there’s a blizzard blowing in right now, but the rich snobs on the upper East Side still want their pizza. They don’t care about the poor pizza delivery people, even though it’s January, for fuck’s sake, and cold as a witch’s tit.
What the fuck are they ordering pizza from Little Caesar’s for anyway? If I had enough money to afford an apartment in one of the most expensive areas of Manhattan, I would never order pizza from a place like Little Caesar’s. I’d have my own chef and eat delicious gourmet dishes every night. Shit, just thinking about food is making my stomach growl and my mouth water.
With a sigh, I accelerate even more. I’m not going to worry about speed limits on a night like this. Not that this scooter can go very fast anyway. At least I have my own transport—that is, during my shift. If I get a good tip on this last delivery I’ll go home on the subway. Otherwise I’ll walk from the pizza place to my apartment in East Harlem. Five blocks on foot, in January, at night, in New York City. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, literally.
Don’t make that face. I know I don’t exactly live in the most upscale neighborhood, but by this time you should have gotten the idea that I’m . . . probably poorer than the homeless man I just passed, sleeping on Fifth Avenue. The only difference is that I have a roof over my head—as long as I manage to keep this job, anyway.
I roar, or rather, putt up to an intersection. The light’s red, but there’s no one on the street and I really, really want to get this damn pizza delivered on time and possibly get a nice tip, so I floor it. Wouldn’t you know it, at that very moment a car appears out of nowhere. I jerk the handlebars and swerve, somehow managing to avoid crashing broadside into the door of the expensive SUV and becoming a large meatball squished against the window. There must be some invisible superhero watching over me.
The driver of the vehicle honks, shorthand for Look where you’re going, stupid bitch! Under other circumstances I might even apologize, but I really need that tip. So I turn my back on the big black SUV and putt-putt away.
The cold is making my eyes water and the scooter tires are skidding on the icy road. Right when I think I’ve finally arrived at my destination, two small yellow eyes suddenly appear out of the darkness right in front of me. I scream at them—to no avail, since the little beast doesn’t move. Instead, it sits down in the middle of the street and begins to lick a paw. Of course I’m driving too fast, and when I try to brake, I lose control and skid. Though I try to steer in the direction of the skid, I lose my balance and fall. I can’t tell if I hit the damn cat or not. All I know is that there’s a big rip in my uniform pants at the knee. I’m afraid to look; I’m pretty sure there’s a bad cut there as well. One side of my body is pulsating with pain, but at least my helmet served its purpose and protected my head. I’m alive, thank goodness, but I don’t see the cat anywhere. I can’t have the death of that poor feline on my conscience as well when I’m already haunted by the specters of those ten goldfish.
I feel tears pricking my eyes. I didn’t want to kill him! I’m not an animal-hater, really! I have nothing against them. They’re the ones that hate me. Still on the ground, the scooter lying on top of my leg, I begin to sob.
Then I hear it. A little meow right behind my head. It sounds mocking, contemptuous. The stupid cat is making fun of me. He’s safe and sound, while my ass is probably one big black bruise and I’ve got at least a dozen other scratches and bruises. “Aaarrgghh!” I scream like someone possessed. I have to get this fucking pizza delivered if I want to keep my job.
I need a miracle. Where’s Superman when you need him? I look around me and notice to my horror that the pizza box has opened up and spilled its contents onto the icy New York streets. Maybe if I can manage to get up and move my ass fast enough, I can shove it back into the box without anyone noticing that the bell peppers have flecks of asphalt on them.
Slowly and painfully I move the scooter off my leg. I can’t feel my toes, but I’m sure that’s more because of the cold than the accident. As I prepare to hoist myself to my feet, I see that the idiot cat has decided to sit down on top of the pizza. It starts to lick off the cheese, its little muzzle turning bright red from the tomato sauce. I realize I’m well and truly fucked.
Superman, where are you when I need you?
As if by magic, I’m suddenly bathed in light. A post-Christmas miracle? Either that or I’m dead, and this is the light at the end of the tunnel everyone talks about. Fuck, I’m going to die like a cat squashed on the highway, I think, because I know neither of those two possibilities describes what’s really happening. A hysterical laugh bursts from my chest. The irony of the situation doesn’t escape me as I sit there watching the car bear down on me. After all, I am lying in the middle of the street in the heart of New York City—what else did I expect?
Then something totally unexpected happens. I say a silent thank-you to my horrible orange uniform. I hate it, but I have to admit, it’s got the visibility of a neon sign in the darkness. I hear the sound of brakes, followed by a car door slamming shut. Turning my head to look, I blink and my jaw drops.
Oh. My. God.
It’s taken twenty-two years, but He finally heard my prayers.
He’s here! Superman is here!
Okay, maybe I hit my head and didn’t realize it. I must have hit it really hard because I could swear that standing before me is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Besides Superman, of course. This guy’s hotter than all the Marvel and DC superheroes put together.
“My hero,” I whisper as tears begin to fill my eyes and my heart rate accelerates.
“Poor kitten, are you okay?”
“What?” I guess I don’t mind that he’s already using a pet name for me, but isn’t it a little soon? I mean, we barely know each other.
His large green eyes rest on mine and he runs a hand through his thick dark-blond hair. A small wrinkle appears in the middle of his forehead and his eyebrows draw together.
Is he worried about me? My heart beats wildly as a dumb smile appears on my face. I can’t quite decipher the expression on his face, though. Is it fear? Concern? I blink a few more times, trying to focus. Then the truth dawns on me. He’s not concerned about me, he’s really pissed off at me. Superman . . . I think sadly.
“What the hell?” he barks suddenly. His voice is deep and masculine, one of those voices that makes you melt as soon as you hear it. “Be more careful next time!”
My eyebrows rise so high they collide with my hairline. “Are you talking to me?” I stammer, looking around like an idiot as if someone else might be there. Of course there’s no one. It’s just him, me, and the stupid cat. The cat that at this precise instant is rubbing itself against the ankles of my hero. What the fuck?
I watch as he bends over and tenderly gathers up the little monster in his big, capable hands. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate that cat right now. He strokes it, then lifts it up and examines it carefully. The crease in his forehead deepens. Taking a deep breath, he holds the cat tighter, turns around, and heads back to his car.
“You can’t just leave me here!” I yell after him. He ignores me. My tears are threatening to spill over now. He opens the gate of his SUV and carefully puts the cat inside.
Then I hear him fiddling around with something. I close my eyes. What’s the point of looking? I just lost my Superman to a cat.
“Can you get up?” His voice is severe. I blink and see him standing in front of me again. So now he’s finally worrying about my health. I glower at him, cross my arms, and nod. “Well, come on, then.” My jaw drops again. “Hurry!” he barks over his shoulder as he heads toward his car.
He stops, one foot in midair. “No?” He turns back toward me. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting that answer. His frown deepens. “Would you prefer that I call the police?” he says challengingly. At the word police the blood freezes in my veins.
“Um, what?” I stammer, hoping I’ve heard wrong.
“I’m sure they’ll have something to say about the fact that you were speeding and running red lights. Oh, and that you hit a poor animal on the street.”
“I didn’t hit him!” I reply indignantly.
He shakes his head and exhales an impatient sigh. “You’re either coming with me or I’m calling the police.”
For a few minutes we engage in a Mexican standoff. I feel like I’m confronting one of those alpha males I’ve read about in my romance novels. I know that the first one to look away will be the loser. I have to be strong.
He raises an eyebrow in a silent challenge. He’s clearly telling me I’ve already lost. The fact that I suddenly sneeze, getting snot on the collar of my uniform shirt—as if I hadn’t humiliated myself enough already—proves that it’s not my fault I can’t win. The universe is clearly against me.
Heaving a defeated sigh, I wipe myself clean—so elegantly—using the sleeve of my jacket. I see him wrinkle his nose in disgust, then look away. He turns around again and heads for the car. “Let’s go,” he orders.
With a snort I throw my arms in the air. “All right,” I say peevishly as I pull myself to my feet, staggering a little for dramatic effect. I feel like a fragile little fawn entering the big bad wolf’s cave. And yes, I know I’m an idiot. “Wait a minute, I can’t leave the scooter here!”
He stops again and slowly turns back to me. I can see a vein pulsing angrily in his neck. I swallow. Maybe I can leave the goddamn scooter here. But then Mr. Animal-lover passes me without a word, walking over to my scooter. He plucks it up off the road as if it weighs nothing and heads for his car again.
“Anything else, your Highness, or do you think you could finally get into the fucking car?” he asks, his tone curt as he maneuvers the scooter into the back of the SUV.
“Um, I don’t think it will close now,” I babble, pointing at the back gate of the SUV. All I earn for my concern is another annoyed look.
“Get. In. The. Car.”
I hasten to the passenger side and climb in. A glance behind me shows me the cat is in a carrier in the middle of the back seat. It seems weird that a guy would just drive around with a cat carrier in his car, but I’m too intimidated to ask him why.
From the corner of my eye I see that he’s left the back gate open. I told him it wouldn’t close! My lips curve into a small smile of triumph—which rapidly morphs into a grimace of terror when Mr. Animal-lover climbs into the driver’s seat.
“Fasten your seat belt,” he barks in his usual tone which is somewhere between a dog growling and a lion roaring.
I swallow. My palms are sweating and the hairs on my arms slowly rise. I must have hit my head really hard, though, because instead of curling up in the corner of the seat and beginning to cry—something I’m quite good at—I turn toward him, raise my eyebrows and ask, “Are you always this much of an asshole or is it just me?”
I see his jaw go rigid, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns the key, presses on the accelerator, and we drive off. With an irritated snort, I look out my window and watch the city lights slide by. All this time waiting for my very own Superman only to discover that he’s actually a complete asshole.
Angela Camilla Pontone is a USA Today bestselling author. She lives in Italy, in a town between Rome and Naples. She's been an avid reader since childhood. She prefers romance, but will gobble up pretty much anything that's available. She's always loved history and literature, so she obtained a Master's Degree in the fields of Italian and Romance Languages, Literatures and Philology, Historical and Musicological Studies, Latin Languages and Literatures, Ancient History, and Archaeology.Camilla's secret desire was always to be a writer, but she never had the courage to pursue her dream until her life experiences led her to seek a way out of reality. Now, her dream is to continue to create great stories that her readers will love.
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Wednesday, July 8, 2020
Soul’s Day Boxset: Horror and Paranormal Halloween Theme
Published by: Fire Quill Publishing
Publication date: October 20th 2020
Genres: Adult, Horror, Paranormal
Old Hallows Eve, when things go bump in the night,Children come to play, and the witches provide the fright.For 21 authors, USA Today and international bestselling,The Halloween tales become more than this foretelling.In the Soul’s Day Boxset, a mansion feeds on souls,A gargoyle captures them, and a demon dungeon master makes the calls,Campers gets picked off one by one,The Karnaval’s corn dogs are less than fun,Ghosts lurking around every bend,‘I do’ at the wedding is the very end.A boxset of chills and thrills to keep you up at night,One-click pre-order to snap your copy filled with fright.On old Hallow’s eve when creatures come to play,With this spine chilling pages, it’s where you’ll want to stay.
With every pre order, the reader can claim their free reading bundle and digital gifts!
Click here for more info!
Click here for more info!
Love under Lockdown: Heart-stirring Sweet Romance Isolationship stories
Published by: Enchanted Quill Press
Publication date: July 1st 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Enchanted Quill Romance is thrilled to present this huge anthology of sweet romantic shorts guaranteed to warm your heart.This collection features 25 short stories about finding love while locked down in one place. It has a wide variety of all your favorite tropes including:
Friends to loversSecond chanceInsta-LoveEnemies to loversForbidden love
And so much more. Laugh, cry, sigh and swoon during this beautiful collection of short stories by sweet romance authors handpicked by Enchanted Quill Romance.This heart-stirring boxset is a limited edition, so pick it up now to avoid missing out.
Only 99¢ for a limited time!
Cowboys & Thunderstorms – Jacqueline Winters
“Did you need me to help with something, Lina?”
Only Grams’ favorite hands could call her by her first name. How Ty had wriggled his way up on that list in the few short months he’d worked at the Holbrook Ranch was still a mystery to Kate. She blamed it on that sickeningly sweet charm he wielded so well.
“As a matter of fact, Kate needs you to ride with her out to the north pasture to look for Melvin.”
Ty chuckled. “Never should’ve named that calf.”
Kate shot him a glare, quite certain the depth of her revulsion was readable. “Really, Shadow and I can handle this. Can’t we, girl?” She hoped Shadow would let out a bark in confirmation, but the dog merely glanced between the three—either waiting for direction or to see if anyone was hiding a treat in their hands.
“I’ll come with you,” Ty said, tone suggesting his mind was already made up. “Storm’s close. Better for you not to go out there alone, Kate. You might get stranded.”
“Oh, he’s right!” Grams clapped her hands against her jean-clad thighs. “Wait here a quick minute.” She scurried into the house before Kate could object.
“Stranded?” She narrowed her eyes at Ty. “I have this under control. It’s just a calf.”
Love on the Run – Lorana Hoopes
“Graham, this is Ginny. She’s just arrived in town, and she needs a job. A little birdie told me you were looking for some help.”
“I see.” Graham looked at the woman across from him. She appeared clean but mousy. Her eyes flicked only briefly to his before dropping again to her lap. “Do you have any restaurant experience, Ginny?”
A slender hand reached up and tucked a strand of her brown hair behind her ears. “Um, a little. I worked at a fast food restaurant when I first graduated high school.” Her voice was soft and hesitant.
“And how long ago was that?”
Her eyes met his briefly. “Six years ago.”
“Have you worked anywhere since?” Tia asked as if hoping she might get more out of the girl.
The girl shook her head once. “I haven’t been allowed to.”
“What do you mean you haven’t been allowed to?” Tia took the words right out of Graham’s mind.
Ginny looked up and met Tia’s questioning eyes. “For the last few years, I’ve been living with someone. He didn’t let me get a job.”
Tuesday, July 7, 2020
New Witch on the Block
(Midlife in Mosswood, #1)
Publication date: June 30th 2020
Genres: Adult, Paranormal
She thought she was running away from her past, not catching up with it.Rosemary Bell just wants to live a quiet, happy life and raise her daughter as far away from her toxic ex-husband as she can get. But when they move into a decrepit cottage in the woods of Mosswood, Georgia, Rosie realizes her life will never be simple.A gang of meddling neighborhood do-gooders want to run her out of town. The vicious laundromat machines keep eating her spare change. Not to mention her buff Irish stalker who insists that he’s a Witch King and that it’s her royal destiny to be his Queen.And to top it all off, strange things keep happening around Rosie when she least expects it…She could deal with it all, but her ex won’t rest until he tracks her down. When her ability to protect her daughter is threatened, Rosie shows them all that nobody messes with the new witch on the block.Practical Magic meets Bridget Jones’ Diary in this fun, heart-warming short novel about starting over, putting family first, and finding love when you least expect it.
Surprisingly, her mind settled on men. It had been twenty-two years since she had been single, and at least twenty since Randy had started policing where her eyes lingered. It had been a long damn time since she’d had a man make her feel… well—anything, other than revulsion. So, alone in her bathtub, she allowed her thoughts to go where they willed.
Like to the dimple in Ben’s left cheek when he had smiled at her that afternoon. Ben was cinnamon-spiced apple pie, with a generous serving of cream. Comforting, clean-cut. Wholesome.
If Ben was apple pie, then Randy was wilted bitter greens. Hard to swallow, and no matter how much you tolerated, it didn’t ever seem like there was less of it on your plate.
Declan was something else altogether. She replayed the way he’d swooped her up in his arms like she was as light as a dried leaf. She remembered the strength in his grip when he’d held her on the playground. He was full-bodied whiskey, with a hint of chili powder.
A deep exhale escaped her at the thought. She slid her hands over her abdomen, suds skimming down her legs as the candlelight cast enchanting shadows across the scene.
And then she was in the dark.
Rosie froze before realizing that the breeze must have snuffed out her candle. She sighed into the darkness, not wanting to break the spell she had been under and get out of the bath yet.
She explored her body like it was a city she’d once known well but had lost her way in recently. Strangely, her touch didn’t feel like her own touch. Her hands felt somehow larger and rougher, even though that was impossible. Her mind focused on a crooked smile, smoky jade green eyes, and a head of shaggy ginger hair that she longed to pull.
When her release came, she felt like she was coming alive again. All the tension of the past few years—leaving Randy, worrying for her daughter and herself—melted into a mellowness that she’d never known. She sighed again, but it was a lighter and more contented sound than before. Rosie ran her hands through the cooling water and then up over her face. The sensation was liberating, and she felt more like herself than she had for decades.
And when Rosie opened her eyes, the candle was burning once more.
Author by day, Netflix connoisseur by night.Louisa likes Pina Coladas and gettin’ caught in the rain. Determined to empty her brain of stories, she writes across several genres including fantasy, speculative fiction, contemporary and historical fiction, and romance.She lives in Mandurah, Western Australia, and drinks more coffee than is good for her. When she’s not writing or researching projects, Louisa enjoys spending time with her family, and Harriet The Great (Dane). Hobbies include playing video games, watching copious amounts of tv, and various craft-related initiatives.She strongly believes that the truth is still out there.
(Reed Security, #25)
Publication date: July 3rd 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
ParkerI’ve been disgraced. I have nothing left to my name after being dishonorably discharged from the military. But I was falsely accused. It doesn’t matter though. It would take a Presidential pardon for me to get my life back, and I don’t see that happening anytime soon. But then Knight walked into my life and offered me a chance at redemption. I don’t want to believe that it could be true, but I’m ready to go along for the ride and see what happens. That’s how I met her. She threw me through a window, but that won’t stop me from seeing her again.
BlakeYou know that phrase ‘I’ve gotten myself into a pickle’? Well, this is a huge pickle. I thought I knew what I was doing when I ran, but this is so much more involved than I ever imagined. I didn’t think someone else would show up at the senator’s house where I was digging up information. I also didn’t expect him to be so hot or to follow me. And I really didn’t expect him to attack me. But I know how to defend myself, so I’m not too worried about it. Now I just have to stay hidden until I can figure out what’s going on. But nothing in my life seems to be going as planned lately. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised when he shows up yet again.
“Ask me what?” she asked, turning to look at me for a moment.
“You said that you should ask me.”
My brows crinkled in confusion. Did I really say that out loud?
Huh. Must be the blood loss.
“Well, I’m sure that has something to do with it. So, what did you want to ask me?”
“Are you military?”
“No, but maybe that would have been the better way to go.”
I blinked slowly at her, trying to focus on what she was saying. “What way did you go?”
She grinned at me. “FBI.”
“Oh, fuck,” I groaned. I was so going to jail. I should have listened to my gut instincts and stayed the fuck away from Knight. I knew he would only get me in trouble, but his offer was so fucking tempting. I could imagine myself carrying a gun again and not getting in trouble for it. I could see myself getting a job and not worrying that they were judging me based on my service record, even though they weren’t supposed to. It all sounded so fucking good, but I should have fucking known.
“I take it that means that you really can’t afford to be caught breaking and entering.”
“You broke and entered first,” I shot back.
She nodded. “Yeah, I did, but I’m not FBI anymore.”
“Why?” I asked, a little dumbfounded as to why someone would leave a job like that. It wasn’t like you could just walk off the street and become an FBI agent. In fact, all of those agencies weren’t a cakewalk. You had to prove that you had something special to get in there.
“I was fired as of three days ago.”
“I dug into something I wasn’t supposed to. Well, at the time I hadn’t done much digging at all, but my boss was an ass and he knew I wouldn’t let it go. So, he told me to hand in my badge and gun.”
I grunted, huffing out a harsh breath that fucking hurt like hell. “Well, at least it makes sense now.”
“Why you were a good sparring partner,” I mumbled.
“Sparring partner? I kicked your ass.”
“Who is sitting in the passenger seat with a piece of glass sticking out of him?”
I rolled my eyes, pissed that she had me there. “Me.”
“That’s right. I kicked your ass.”
“You shoved me in a glass through a window,” I slurred. “If I did that glass to you, the window wouldn’t be looking too good now either.”
“That didn’t make any sense.”
I shrugged. “Whatever.”
I'm a stay at home mom that loves to read. Some of my favorite titles are Pride and Prejudice, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and Horatio Hornblower. I started writing when I was trying to come up with suggestions on ways I could help bring in some extra money. I came up with the idea that I could donate plasma because you could earn an extra $500/month. My husband responded with, "No. Find something else. Write a blog. Write a book." I didn't think I had anything to share on blog that a thousand other mothers hadn't already thought of. I decided to take his challenge seriously and sat down to write my first book, Jack. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed writing. From there, the stories continued to flow and I haven't been able to stop. I hope my readers enjoy my books as much as I enjoy writing them. Between reading, writing, and taking care of three small kids, my days are quite full.