Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Marlow Kelly shares Sun Storm, The Gathering Storm book 1

SUN STORM
The Gathering Storm, book 1

by Marlow Kelly

Genre: Romantic Suspense






Dr. Marie Wilson is a scientist on the verge of a breakthrough. She has come to Montana on the eve of a blizzard to prove her small, portable solar panel can generate electricity even in the harshest environment. But when four men invade her remote cabin with plans to kill her, she knows she’s in trouble.


Ex-Special Forces soldier, David Quinn, has had enough of danger and death. All he wants is to be left alone on his Montana acreage to pursue his dream of being a beekeeper. But when his old mentor convinces him to help retrieve a stolen solar panel, he thinks it will be a simple job. But the moment he sets eyes on Marie, he knows their assignment is all kinds of wrong.


Together, they escape. Chased by a businessman with unlimited resources, a gunman and a corrupt police force, they are thrust into the frozen Montana landscape. Can a cynical soldier and a naive scientist learn about love and trust in order to survive?




A crack of splintering wood and the door crashed open. Marie jumped to her feet, her heart pounding. A scream lodged in her throat as four men burst in, filling the tiny space. She raced to the fireplace and grabbed the poker.


A handsome blond-haired man led the way. He was so good looking he could be an actor. He had a square jaw and wore a well-tailored leather jacket. Even his fair hair was perfectly trimmed. Two burly men followed, both with dark, short-cropped hair. They could be twins. Their thick bodies and the way they swung their arms reminded her of a pair of gorillas. They also had the same flattened nose and malicious, small, dark eyes. They moved to the back of the room near the sink. The last man had unkempt, long, sandy-colored hair. He wore a crumpled, hooded camouflage jacket and baggy gray pants. A long scar ran across one side of his face, starting at his ear and running through his beard, parting it with a jagged white line. He didn’t say a word. He simply nodded at the poker in her hand and shook his head, silently telling her to drop her weapon.


Sensing that any attempt to fight him would be futile, she let it fall to the ground. “You can take the money. I don’t have—”


“Shut up,” the handsome blond barked. A vein on his forehead bulged as he scowled.


Her heart hammered against her ribs. She prayed they would take what they wanted and leave.


Handsome stepped in front of her and placed the barrel of his handgun between her eyes. “Tell us where it is.”


“What are you doing?” The man with the scar strolled over and stood next to her. In her peripheral vision, she could make out his intense, pale, lifeless eyes.


He leaned close to her face so his warm breath touched her cheek. “This is all wrong.”


A small squeal emanated from her throat. He was too close. Too scary. Killer. The word rang through her mind. The scar, those dead eyes, and his demeanor gave the impression of a lethal, terrifying man.


“What do you mean? Our intel is good.” The vein on Handsome’s forehead throbbed to life.


With one finger, Killer nudged the pistol away from her head. “First, how can she tell us where it is when she’s too frightened to talk?”


Handsome shrugged, revealing a smile with perfect white teeth.


Marie released a huge breath. She needed to do something, but couldn’t focus, couldn’t form a coherent thought.


“Second,” Killer continued, “what do we really know about this situation?”


Handsome sneered. “You were in the army. You know how it is. We don’t make the decisions. We follow orders.”


“And what exactly are our orders?” Killer asked, his voice low and calm.


“We’re to retrieve what was stolen and eliminate the girl.”


There had to be a misunderstanding. She was a scientist, not someone who needed to be eliminated.










After being thrown out of England for refusing to drink tea, Marlow Kelly made her way to Canada where she found love, a home and a pug named Max. She also discovered her love of storytelling. Encouraged by her husband, children and let’s not forget Max, she started putting her ideas to paper. Her need to write about strong women in crisis drives her stories.


She is an award-winning author, and a member of the Romance Writers of America.


Facebook ✯ Website ✯ Twitter ✯ Goodreads ✯ Amazon ✯ Pinterest














Saturday, August 26, 2017

Liza O'Connor shares her horror of bull fighting.


When I went to Nederlands for six months I watched a lot of bull fighting on European TV at nights. (You don’t have to know the language to watch bull fighting.) I was shocked and outraged at the unfairness, brutality, and senseless murder of drugged bulls. I always rooted for the bull, but they were doomed to die because it was a rigged contest. They doped the bulls up so they had no chance. Sometimes the bulls could barely stand, nevertheless fight.
And they didn’t just kill one bull, but once the dead bull was carted away, they’d bring out another poor bull to torture and kill and then bring out another. It was the most barbaric horror I had ever seen.

What I didn’t know back then was it was against the rules to dope the bulls. A rule clearly ignored by everyone.  In the six months, I watched the sport (seriously there was nothing else on at night in English.) I never saw a bull that was not drugged. A few came in looking strong, but then they’d be stuck in the back and the rump with small three-foot wooden spears which were obviously coated with a drug. In short order, the bull would be stumbling about like it was drunk.  By the time the fancy pants guy with a cape showed up, anyone could have killed the poor bull.

When I returned home, I checked out Bull riding, suspecting it might be fairer. AND IT WAS. First of all, no bulls are murdered. All they have to do is stand in a metal gate system while a cowboy settles onto their back and secures their bull rope. A flank strap is tied around the hind quarters to increase their bucking, but that’s all. The bulls are costly and treated well, at least as long as they are bucking well.
It is the Bull Riders that take a beating. Even there, no one wants the rider to die, so they work very hard to prevent that from happening. However, I have to believe somewhere along the way a bull rider has died by bull’s post medication. So I googled this. If a rider has died, it is not showing up on any google or Wikipedia search I found. I suspect there have been deaths, but they are being squelched by the PBR. However, I have to say, by the time a cowboy gets to the top ranks of bull riders, he knows his job. Also, there are men (ironically called bull fighters) who try to distract the bull once a rider is off its back. This is critical since some bulls seem to want payback. Others just trot back to their pen, having done their job. Still, if you are running for your life to escape a bull and leap up on a gate, rest assured, a fellow bull rider will help you to the other side.
Sadly, I have seen career ending bull rides, where the bull rider is broken up and never returns to bull riding. And even that has to be a death-knoll of sorts to these 8 second thrill junkies.


SLAMMED


By
Liza O’Connor
Contemporary Suspense
Country Western/ Bull Riding

Blurb


Davy Hill goes from obscurity to fame by riding the rankest bull alive. Coming from a life of poverty, the young cowboy expects his life to change for the better now that he’s a successful professional bull-rider. Yet, with every occurrence of good luck comes an equal dose of bad. He suffers a potentially career-ending injury, a string of betrayals, and much worse. Despite all the brutal slams he takes, he keeps getting up, because he’s a bull-rider and they never give up.


EXCERPT
Davy climbed onto the back of Black Poison. Despite his frightening name, the bull was reputed to be the closest thing to a sure ride the WBR had. Seventy percent of riders stayed on for the eight seconds. However, because the bull was a sure ride the average score was only 80.
While Davy could not achieve his moment of silence before he nodded for the gate to open, he felt confident he could stay on this bull. Yet, a second later, he fell behind the bull’s moves and had to fight like hell to right his body and regain the sweet spot. When Poison changed directions, he once again slipped from the sweet spot and by the eight-second horn, he was hanging onto the side with brute force.
When he released his grip, he fell directly beneath the bull and before he had a chance to roll to safety, Poison’s back left hoof clock him on his helmet so hard that bells rang in his ears and his head rolled sideways. The right back hoof followed, breaking away the chin guard, and cutting into his jaw.
He heard Curly yelling at him to move, and then someone shoved him on his back. Unfortunately, his desire to get up seemed to have no effect on his legs and arms. As pain seared into his back, he finally realized the one shoving him wasn’t Curly. He felt his body tossed forward like a rag doll as the bullfighters called the bull’s name, trying to distract him.
“Poison, Poison, Poison…”
Pain seared his gut, as horns sliced beneath his vest. His world turned grey and then black.



BUY IT NOW!
SLAMMED
Davy’s Saga, Book 1



ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Liza O’Connor lives in Denville, NJ with her dog Jess. They hike in fabulous woods every day, rain or shine, sleet or snow. Having an adventurous nature, she learned to fly small Cessnas in NJ, hang-glide in New Zealand, kayak in Pennsylvania, ski in New York, scuba dive with great white sharks in Australia, dig up dinosaur bones in Montana, sky dive in Indiana, and raft a class four river in Tasmania. She’s an avid gardener, amateur photographer, and dabbler in watercolors and graphic arts. Yet through her entire life, her first love has and always will be writing novels.

FOR MORE INFORMATION ABOUT
Investigate these sites:




Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Simon Says by Victoria Danann

SIMON SAYS
D.I.T., book 1

by Victoria Danann

Genre: Paranormal Romance






Simon Tvelgar wasn’t always the staid and steady director of the Order of the Black Swan headquarters in Edinburgh who manages the most unruly congregation of talented misfits ever assembled into one organization.


No. He was once a young, beautiful, athletically gifted knight, wild and lustful as any, until he fell in love with a Scottish fae girl who on bereavement leave. He lost her to the stones of the Orkneys as they picnicked there on Lammas twenty years before. She was swallowed up and faded from view, a look of panic on her face as she reached for him while her mouth silently formed his name. He lunged to grab her, but she was simply gone.


Year after year he traveled back to the Orkney Islands and talked to locals, but Shivaun was never seen again. Simon channeled his sorrow and loneliness into work until he eventually rose to the highest position open to an ex Black Swan knight.


Now, for the first time, he thinks there might be someone who could find Shivaun. Rosie Storm.


This novella introduces a new Black Swan series, D.I.T., Department of Interdimensional Trespass.



“You’re a very good cook, Simon. Some woman is goin’ to be lucky to have you for a mate.”


“I don’t know. I think perhaps on balance my less desirable qualities might outweigh my cooking skills.”


“What are your less desirable qualities?” Simon opened his mouth to answer, but she changed her mind. “Ne’er mind. I do no’ want to know. For tonight I want to believe that you’re perfect. A god fallen to Earth from that star,” she looked up in the sky and pointed, “right there.”


“Suit yourself,” he smiled.


“How old are you?”


“Twenty three. How old are you?”


“Twenty nine. You seem much older. I would’ve guessed that you’re closer to my age.”


He smirked. “Vampire hunting ages a person.”


“You’re stickin’ with that vampire huntin’ business, are you?”


“That’s my story.” His casual nonchalance would never be taken as cover for the truth about his occupation.


She rolled her eyes. “How long are you on holiday?”


“I’m not exactly on holiday. A friend died. He was a close friend, more like family really. So I’m out here to…”


Watching him struggle to find the right words, she offered, “Clear your head and free your heart?”


If Simon had spent a year contemplating how best to answer why he was there, he would not have been able to come up with a more perfect and concise description of his reasons. He didn’t answer, just reached over and pulled Sorcha close enough to him so that he could kiss her the way he’d been thinking all through dinner. With the firelight reflecting on her face, she had him believing that she was the goddess who likely fell to Earth from the brightest star in the heavens above.


It took little urging to get her to scoot closer a look of sensual anticipation on her face.


“You done this before, human?”


Simon smiled sardonically. “Couple of times,” he said just before pressing a soft kiss to her mouth. When she deepened the kiss, with an unmistakable flavor of demand and insistence, he chuckled. He’d been thinking sweet and slow. She was apparently thinking eager and faster. He was just as cool with eager and faster. So he let her set the pace.


Flanked by the Atlantic to the west and North Sea to the east, the Orkneys enjoyed a surprisingly mild climate. At least that’s what the travel brochures say. But forties didn’t feel mild if a wet wind whipped up after the sun finally set and sleeping arrangements are outdoors on the ground.


It took a few minutes to figure out how to reconfigure the sleeping bag zippers so that they could take advantage of the combination of modern fiber technology and body heat.


“How can it be so hard?” She laughed.


“It’s like a puzzle,” he replied. “We’re both reasonably bright, well educated persons. We’ll figure it out. Just be patient.”


She growled. “I’m no’ feelin’ patient. I’m feelin’ eager.”






“When it came to my attention that D.I.T. was going to Dublin, I thought of Torn Finngarick. After all he knew the culture and could, perhaps, be useful. I confess to the ulterior motive of wanting to see all the floaters brought in from the cold. He was one of the remaining few. And everybody deserves another chance. Right?


As I mentioned earlier, my wife was working for Black Swan setting up a unit called Department of Interdimensional Trespass. It seemed that creatures coming and going at will were causing havoc that had, until recently, been unexplained, believed to be fiction of the myth or folklore variety, or dismissed as interplanetary visitations. Rosie was busy hiring and training people who were going to function as police.


Anyway, I had served with Sir Finngarick when I was first knighted as the fourth member of the infamous Z Team and came to know him quite well. Most believed he was irredeemable. I did not.”
Glendennon Catch, Sovereign, Jefferson Unit





Victoria Danann is the New York Times bestselling author of twenty romances. For the past four years in a row, Victoria's Knights of Black Swan series have won prestigious Reviewers' Choice Awards for both BEST PARANORMAL ROMANCE SERIES and PARANORMAL ROMANCE NOVEL OF THE YEAR. This past year three of her series and three of her novels were nominated. Two of her series took the top two places and two of her books took first and second place in the PNR Novel of the Year category.


In addition to vampire hunting knights, Victoria writes other paranormal romance, scifi, fantasy, and contemporary romance.


Victoria co-hosts the popular ROMANCE BETWEEN THE PAGES podcast which can be found on itunes or at → www.romancecast.com




Monday, August 21, 2017

Blackheart by Raelle Logan

BLACKHEART
by Raelle Logan

Genre: Historical Romance






No memory of his past, sentenced to death for a duel gone horrid, Lochlanaire Blackheart is commanded by King William to hunt Siren Rain. She’s the illegitimate daughter of ousted King James II. In capturing his prey, Lochlanaire must retrieve the ruby signet Siren dons. That jewel is the talisman of King James II, which proves Siren’s ancestry. Lochanaire, however, is unaware that at the moment he casts sail aboard his ship, Siren’s been kidnapped by his pirate brother, Zore. Lochlanaire must battle this cutthroat for the princess, spinning Siren into his web of treachery. Afterward, they’re shipwrecked, entwined in a union of inconvenience when Lochlanaire weds Siren under the witchery of gypsies. Lochlanaire soon enlightens Siren of her true father’s identity. She seduces her captor, desperate to conceive Lochlanaire’s child. She believes he cannot surrender her to die at King William’s hangman’s noose if their blood unites. When Lochlanaire’s stalked by a ghoul slaughtering the pirates aboard his ship, he never realizes that this fiend possesses a wicked secret. Siren must unravel all the Blackheart brothers’ secluded evils and save Lochlanaire, for he threads together a travesty by which to sacrifice himself to King William, all while opposing the two seething brothers who seek his demise for the tragedies reaped in Lochlanaire’s shattered past. If Lochlanaire fails to evade the death shroud shadowing his footfalls, Siren will lose the breath-wrenching privateer who is her assassin hunter, the possessor of her lusty soul, and her only love.




Siren watched the door to her newest prison open. She recoiled and rebuked her captor’s every move. Once he tossed the decanter onto the desk and advanced on her, she scurried for the bed’s farthest end.


Lochlanaire throttled her right hand and drew it outward.


Siren fought him.


His biting hold never wavered, however, and as her eyes brushed his scarred wrists that irons once trussed, Lochlanaire tore the ruby ring off her finger.


Siren’s arms wrapped around her legs. “Why?”


He moved off to the rain-washed window. Lochlanaire slipped King James II’s signet onto his pinky and searched rolling waves. Dully he spoke, “Who are you, Siren Rain?”


You kidnapped me. You should know who I am,” she reprimanded.


Lochlanaire questioned, “Why did Zore accost you?”


“Who is Zore?”


“Zore is the captain that held you prisoner aboard the Vengeance.”


“I never saw the tyrant until he came to the Virginian in Norfolk,” Siren admonished.


“The Virginian?” Lochlanaire removed one silk shirt from a shelf. He unlaced the soaked shirt that clung to his body and divested himself of it.


The witchery of his eyes captivated hers and then Siren’s gaze caressed his chiseled flesh, which tapered to his waist. Lochlanaire’s shirt was thrown to the captain’s chair. Siren’s breath wrenched, her glance touched the flog scars that desecrated his body.


Lochlanaire turned his body away so she couldn’t see his chest or back.


Siren recovered her wits. “The Virginian is a hall. I served the men food and drink while they gamed.”


Lochlanaire fluttered the shirt to cover his body; the laces remained untied to his waist. He fully faced her. “This is where you met Zore?”


Siren replied angrily, “I never met the bastard, in the manner you suggest. He kidnapped me in the alley and caged me as his prisoner aboard his vile ship. All he said was that he intended to return me to England. He would not even tell me his bloody name, leaving me alone for months in that hellish cabin. I have no hint of what I’ve executed that prompts such sacrilege.” Glaring, for he sat on a chair, Siren demanded, “My ring?”


Lochlanaire casually retrieved another decanter. He tore the cork loose, and hurled it to the desk. He shook his head, mulling upon the ring glinting on his finger. “The ring is mine.”


Siren seethed, “That ring is all I possess of my father. I want it.”


His eyebrow arched. “You were acquainted with your father?”


“No, I’ve never met him. My mother gave me the ring. It was a token of his love for her. I command my ring’s immediate return,” she ordered.


Lochlanaire never uttered a word.


Siren dared his piercing scowl.


A knock clattering the door battered the anxious silence. “Captain? Grayson requests a word.”


Lochlanaire vaulted onto his feet, dropped the decanter upon the desk, ignored his captive and retreated to the door.


Siren yelled, darting to her feet, her fists clenched, “My ring…give me my ring!”


Lochlanaire strode to her. He clutched the neck of Siren’s shirt, his eyes seared hers, and then they fondled her heaving breasts.


Siren breathed greedily, searching his fiery stare that journeyed to hers. Siren’s lips challenged.


Lochlanaire pushed her to sprawl across the bed. Hunching, his arms splayed around Siren’s sides. He snarled, “No.” Spinning, he walked to the door, unlocked it and departed.


Siren faltered to sit and crept a hand to her racing heart. My God, what sordid trap had she stumbled into, and why did her flesh quiver under this sorcerer’s eyes?











I’ve been writing stories since I was a very young child. Back then, my writing interests were mainly in a Western genre, owing to my Dad being a HUGE Western movie fan. My mother worked at a local library and one day she brought home several books she hoped would keep me occupied throughout the summer months while I was out of school. Several of those books were written by author Victoria Holt. Needless to say, I was hooked on romance. After I threw out the Western manuscript I had written, I delved into the romance genre with hearty gusto, reading every book I could find. In later years, after marrying a racecar driver, a neighbor tossed an old laptop over the fence in our backyard into my husband’s arms, as he wanted to help with my husband’s racing career. I got curious about the computer, sat down one day and starting writing on the notepad, only to discover, to my absolute horror, that I couldn’t save my work. I bought a new computer and have been writing since. After writing my first manuscript, I realized I wanted to write a book about pirates that was more true to the reality of their real lives than is usually portrayed in books and film. Having only the limited knowledge of what I had seen in paper and moves, I took a year off in order to do historical research, learning about pirates and their ships, weapons, clothing and, language. I even read the WEBSTER’S dictionary so I could use words for the time period I write about. BLACKHEART is my first published manuscript. Currently I live in Littleton Colorado with my husband and our cat Ransom.





Friday, August 18, 2017

Scandal's Child by Pamela Gibson

SCANDAL'S CHILD
by Pamela Gibson

Genre: Regency Romance







Miranda Comstock, widowed and impoverished, accepts a position in London caring for a child who was blinded in a fire. When she discovers the child’s mysterious guardian is the lover who seduced and abandoned her five years earlier, her first thought is to flee. But nine-year-old Phoebe depends on her and is blossoming under her care.


Jeremy Montague returns from Jamaica to take up his duties as the new Earl of Longley and is shocked to find his former lover is his ward’s nurse. Believing she played him for a fool, he vows to remove her from his household, especially when she played him for a fool, he vows to remove her from his household,


But there is a mystery afoot involving a long-ago disappearance, Miranda’s resemblance to a society debutante, and the child’s suppressed memories of the fire, which are starting to emerge. As Phoebe’s memories become sharper, Jeremy begins to suspect that he and Miranda were pawns in a twisted game. And both must learn to trust again, if they are to find their way back into each other’s hearts.






A glass of brandy awaited her when Miranda reached the parlor. Jeremy handed it to her without asking, and she accepted it gratefully. The fiery liquid brought her back to reality.


As she sat in the chair in her room, watching Phoebe go to sleep, a languid feeling had overtaken her. Her fight and energy had dissolved once she knew the girl was safe. All she wanted was to sink back into sleep. Now she was wide awake again, although her arms and legs still threatened to buckle under her.


Jeremy leaned against the mantle. She hadn’t noticed in the flurry of activity he’d lost his cravat and he was not wearing a waistcoat. Her only thoughts had been for Phoebe. Now every nerve ending was on edge as she studied his tall frame, his tight pantaloons, and the dark curls peeking from the top of his unfastened shirt. She remembered how soft they had felt against her bare breasts, how they tickled her nose when she lowered her lips to coax his nipples into hard buds. Warmth seeped between her thighs, making her squirm in the hard chair she had chosen. Shaking her head, she took a deep swig of the amber liquid and swallowed, making herself choke.


“Are you all right?” He came over and patted her back as she leaned forward.


“I am not accustomed to strong spirits,” she said between coughs.


“I’m sure you are not, but we all needed some tonight. Or is it morning?”


As if in response, the clock on a nearby table chimed twice.


Miranda blinked and gritted her teeth. Remember, this is the man who deceived you, who already had a mistress and a child when he was promising to marry you. This is the man who sailed away without a word, who never sent a letter, who left you enceinte and alone.


Be fair, he didn’t know you were increasing.


She stilled her inner voice and answered the question.


“It is morning as you heard. Shall we get on with this discussion, so we can all get some sleep?”


He sauntered over to the chair opposite hers and sat down. His lips were drawn in a straight line, and his eyes were cold.


“Now then, tell me exactly how this happened.” He lifted the crystal glass to his lips and drank deeply. Candlelight sparkled from its beveled surface. Miranda watched in fascination as points of light seemed to blur in front of her eyes.


“Miranda? Did you hear me?” He gave her arm a gentle shake. “Are you awake?”


He’d called her Miranda. She blinked and refocused on his lips. That was a mistake. All she could think about was how she longed to taste them, how she burned for the feel of them on her neck and breasts and thighs.


God, she must be exhausted to be having these thoughts.







Award-winning author Pamela Gibson grew up loving books, history, and small towns. Her first career was a newspaper reporter, but when she returned to college to get a master’s degree, it was in public administration which eventually led to jobs running cities…not as an elected official, but as a city manager, the chief appointed one.


Writing was still her passion and when not busy—with the activities of two children and a lot of volunteer work—she was contracted to write several books on local history. Taking an early retirement at the urging of her very supportive husband, she turned to fiction and began writing the happy ending novels she loves to read.


Sign up for her quarterly newsletter on her website. New followers are eligible for a random drawing for two $5 Amazon gift cards prior to each edition. Author of six small-town contemporary novels, Scandal’s Child is her first historical novel.




Tuesday, August 15, 2017

GENTEEL SECRETS by S.R. Mallery

GENTEEL SECRETS
by S.R. Mallery

Genre: Historical Romance






What do a well-bred Southern Belle and a Northern working class Pinkerton detective have in common? Espionage . . . and romance. At the start of the U.S. Civil War, while young men begin dying on American battlefields and slavery is headed toward its end, behind the scenes, female undercover work and Pinkerton intelligence are alive and well. But in the end, can this unlikely Romeo and Juliet couple’s love survive, or will they be just another casualty of war?


CHAPTER TEN


“The course of true love never did run smooth.”
––William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream


“Finally, we meet again,” he said so low, so deeply, she almost couldn’t hear it. Truth be told, she probably wouldn’t have been able to hear much of anything he said, her heartbeat was rattling so loudly inside her chest.


When he took her hand to kiss it, it amazed her how wobbly and unsteady her knees felt, as if she had just been hit hard by a low-lying branch. Yet, she didn’t fall. Instead, for the first time in weeks, a broad smile appeared on her face.


“Oh Hannah,” he murmured and leaned in close, still holding her hand. “Why didn’t you ever come back to me?”


“I swear I tried, truly I did, but I kept being stopped by my family.”


. . .“Shall we go out onto the balcony?” he asked.


Nodding, she let him guide her outdoors, away from the waltzes, and the general conversation growing more sonorous by the hour. The evening chill had remained at its peak and the distant sound of soldiers maneuvering in their tented camps served as a soft, pleasant background. . .

.
Standing side by side overlooking Washington, they heard the occasional clacking of carriages over the cobblestones and saw the glow of street lamps casting long shadows everywhere.


“Still reading Wordsworth and Harriet Beecher Stowe?”


Laughing, she touched him lightly on his arm. “Always.”


She could feel that same gravitational pull overcome her, the same urge to touch him as she had felt that day on the park bench, only now, with the closeness of their bodies, it was stronger than ever. She thought about what it would be like to be in his arms, to feel his breath on her face, feel his broad shoulders underneath his jacket.


When he gently kissed her, it didn’t last long. It gave her just a hint of his lips. Still, she didn’t know how to handle the new sensations instantly sparking in her body. This was unchartered territory. He kissed her again, slightly longer this time as he encircled her waist with his arms and drew her up against his broad chest. Her only thought was she wanted, no, needed, more. The third time he kissed her, she could feel the urgency sweeping them both into some unknown cavern of pleasure, and when he kissed her a fourth time, it was long and deep. She lost consciousness of anything else but how he was making her feel. When he began gently kissing her neck, her breasts tilted upward to be touched, and as shameful as she always had assumed it was, she was no longer able to suppress the ache she was experiencing between her legs––her ‘thing,’ as she once overhead a couple of the slaves call it when they were discussing a topic no self-respecting, well-bred white southern girl would ever discuss.


“Hannah, we must stop,” he growled.


“Oh, my,” she managed, her breath shaky, her chest heaving.


He drew a large, wavering breath as well. “Exactly. That’s why I had to put a stop to this. You mean too much to me, Hannah, to let things go any further.”










Let’s face it. S. R. Mallery is as eclectic as her characters. Starting out as a classical/pop singer/composer, she next explored the fast-paced world of advertising as a production artist while she simultaneously dipped her toe into the Zen biosphere as a calligrapher. Having started a family and wanting to work from the home, she moved on to having a long career as an award-winning quilt artist and an ESL/Reading instructor before settling on her true love––writing. Her short stories have been published in descant 2008, Snowy Egret, Transcendent Visions, The Storyteller, and Down In the Dirt. Her quilt articles have appeared in Quilt World and Traditional Quilt Works.




Saturday, August 12, 2017

Something So Sweet by Meika Usher

SOMETHING SO SWEET
The Breakaway series, book 1

by Meika Usher

Genre: Contemporary Romantic Comedy






SHE’S A DREAMER STUCK IN A RUT


Big dreams. Tierney Chandler had ‘em. Why else would she leave her small town—and her picture perfect fiancé—behind? Nine years later, the town’s still small, her dreams are mostly still dreams, and her still-perfect ex is interested. Maybe she should ditch her daydreams and pick up right where she left off…


HE’S A DREAMER STUCK ON HER


Jack Elliott is a baker, making his dreams come true one golden, flaky pie crust at a time. Years ago, he lost out on his chance with Tierney, but now she’s back—and he’s determined not to let his annoyingly perfect cousin swoop in and steal her away. Again.


TOGETHER, THEY CAN MAKE NEW DREAMS COME TRUE
With a little magic potpie, some stellar kisses, and a heaping helping of blue-eyed charm, maybe—just maybe—Jack can convince Tierney that he’s the dream she’s been waiting for.






“If only you’d kiss me. Then, things would be just swell.” He looked up and added, “I’ve been waiting years, you know.”


My eyes fell to his mouth. Only inches separated us. I’d just have to lean in…


“Get over here.” Jack said, his voice husky, his eyes burning into mine. And who was I to disobey an order like that?


I moved in, closing my eyes as his hands came up to either side of my face. I could feel his breath on my lips as he drew closer and closer.


Suddenly, my eyes flew open. “What if it sucks?”


“What?” Jack dropped his hands, confusion clearing away the heat that had been in his eyes seconds before. “You picked a mighty good time to doubt my kissing ability, darlin’.”


I put my hands up in a helpless gesture. “Sorry, it’s just…there’s been so much build up. There’s a lot of pressure for this kiss to be good. What if it isn’t? What if—“


Jack cut me off, crushing his lips to mine, his hands pushing through my hair.


And just like that, the world shifted. A whimper left my throat as my hands slid up his arms. Without breaking the kiss, I got to my knees and moved closer. Jack’s hands left my hair to trail down my neck and over my shoulders, settling on my waist.


Sparks scattered over every inch of my skin, ending with a full-on lights display behind my eyes. I shoved my hands into Jack’s hair and leaned closer until I lost my balance, ending up in his lap. He laughed then, the sound vibrating sweetly through my entire body. Turned out, his laugh felt better than it sounded.


With one hand behind my neck, the other resting on my waist, Jack deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into my mouth, slow, luxurious. The embers burning low in my abdomen roared to life. I brushed my tongue against his and he rewarded me with a delicious groan that broke through whatever semblance of restraint I’d been holding onto. Parting, I straddled him, then smiled before pressing my mouth to his once more.


Jack’s hands found the bottom of my shirt and his fingertips played with the naked skin there. My legs began to shake, my lungs ached, my body burned. And yet I didn’t want to stop kissing him.


A sound from my left startled us apart. We looked in time to see Jack’s fishing pole take a nosedive into the pond. I laughed and shook my head. “You, sir, are a terrible fisherman.”





Something So Sweet  by  Meika Usher

Poor Tiereny
She’s a bit of clutz,
Worse yet, nine years ago, she upset the wheel barrel by dropping her hometown fiancé and running off to have a career in the city…which is not working out so well.

She’s working as an editor at Pencil Pusher Publishing, but it’s not the soul satisfying job that she needed. There has been only one novel that she loves.

After a long absence, she’s returned home to celebrate her dad’s birthday only to discover the whole town, but a few. seems to hate her.

To make matters interesting, both her ex-fiancé, Wes, and his cousin, Jack, are at the party, along with former cheerleaders & other people who don’t like her.   Some things don’t change. Turns out the mean girls from school, are still mean and catty as adults.

This book was a fun-packed struggle to find and keep true love. It’s not easy. But whoever said love was easy!

Ranking this book is not easy. For me it was good, but never managed to hit the great button, but it was better than a ranking of four would suggest. So I’m giving it a 4.5 and rounding up for all the fun I had reading it.






AmazonB&NiTunesKoboGooglePlay  Goodreads





Meika Usher is a Michigan romance author, a puppy mama, and a lover of pizza in all its forms. When she's not writing snarky, sexy love stories, she can be found binge-watching Supernatural (she's a Dean girl), memorizing all the song lyrics ever (it's her superpower), or planning to see the world, one country at a time (Prague is next on her list).