Aloha to Marie Harte and TEST DRIVE

Reminder: I have a special giveaway for Military Appreciation Month at this link.

A smokin’ hot new series from Marie Harte featuring tough-guy mechanics and the women who jump-start their hearts.

By the way, Marie Harte herself is smoking hot as a former Marine Corps officer ... thank you, Marie, for serving!

GET TO KNOW THE BODY SHOP BAD BOYS

Johnny, Foley, Sam, and Lou are the rough and tumble mechanics of Webster’s Garage. These reformed bad boys are used to living fast, but it’s the women in their lives who take them from zero to sixty in a heartbeat.

JOHNNY

Johnny Devlin’s a charmer with a checkered past. He’s had his eye on scorching-hot bartender Lara Valley for ages, but she’s rejected him more than once. That doesn’t mean he won’t come to her aid when some dirtbag mauls her. When she asks him on a date as a no-strings-attached thank you, he can’t say no. And then he’s saying nothing but hell, yes.

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About Marie Harte:

Caffeine addict, boy referee, and romance aficionado, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author MARIE HARTE is a confessed bibliophile and devotee of action movies. Whether hiking or biking around town, or hanging at the local tea shop, she’s constantly plotting to give everyone a happily ever after. She lives in in Central Oregon.

Visit marieharte.com and fall in love.

How's this for a muscle car?
It's a squadron car from Osan AB, Korea.

Sourcebooks is hosting a giveaway at this link ... and offers an excerpt from TEST DRIVE ... 

Before she followed him back into the living room, she turned off his oven, still drooling at the thought of a Diatavio lasagna. She joined him as he pointed out his amazing sound system and big-screen TV. Typical guy.

“And through there”—he nodded at the hallway—“are four bedrooms. I use one as a weight room, another as a study. The other two for actual sleeping.”

“Oh, a study. I only have the one bedroom, but you saw that.” She felt embarrassed at living in such a meager abode compared to this spacious one. “You rent, or did you buy this place?”

“Rent.” He shrugged. “The landlady is a sweetheart. I do all the upkeep, and she makes sure the rent stays the same. It’s a nice neighborhood, and with a little more care, this house would rock. I just don’t want to pour a lot of effort and money into a house I’m renting. If I owned it, then yeah, I’d get it perfect. It’s home, and it’s comfy. Works for me.”

He pointed out his weight room and spare bedroom—which had nothing in it. Johnny apparently didn’t entertain much overnight. At least, not in a bed not his own.

“And this… The place where all the magic happens.”

“Between you and rosy palm or what?” she couldn’t help muttering.

He heard her and laughed. “You wound me.” Still chuckling, he added, “But I deserve it after my pathetic attempt to feed you. No, Lara, this is my office.”

She looked inside at rows of…books. “You’re a reader?”

He no longer looked so pleased. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I can’t help it. Okay, I get that you have a bazillion books on cars and manuals about how to fix them. But biographies? History books? Hey, is that Shakespeare? Edgar Allen Poe?” She goggled. “Tolkien? Holy crap. I think I even see a bible.”

“Nah, that’s not mine.” He shrugged. “That I found on the street.”

She saw a pile of books near it that seemed a little worse for wear. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about being religious.”

“I’m not.” He didn’t sound defensive. “I saw that literally lying in an alley near the garage. Nobody was near it, and no way I’d let a book just linger like that. Such a sad fate for words on a page.”

Yet another quirky facet of Johnny Devlin. The man was a bookworm. It only added to his appeal. The sexy-as-hell muscle-bound mechanic slash book nerd. There were too many books with creased spines to think he had them in his study merely to impress others.

I am so getting a piece of this man tonight.

He nodded to her beer. “How’s the combo treating you?”

She took another bite of licorice, then another tentative sip. “Shockingly, it’s starting to taste okay. And I’m not drunk, so that’s me admitting, sober, that I might like this.”

“Told you.”

“Smug is not your best look,” she said drily and followed him out of his study.

“You sure about that?”

Damn him, he had a point. Johnny looked amazing no matter what. Angry, happy, mischievous. She couldn’t say she’d ever seen him sad though. Frustrated or aggrieved, but not grieving. “Okay, Mr. Arrogant. What now?” She wiggled her brows, clearly mocking him. “Is this where we pause so you can show me your etchings?”

They’d stopped outside his bedroom door standing side by side. “Would it work?”

She decided to go big. She took another bite of candy and followed with a swig of beer. “Why don’t you try it and find out?”

She couldn’t read the look he shot her, but she followed him into his bedroom, intending to learn more.

This was most likely the room where the magic truly happened. He had a king-size bed. Go figure. A clean nightstand with a few books on it, an alarm clock, and a bedside light. A large closet with closed doors took up one wall. A tall dresser and hamper took up another. He had no mirror or other clutter in the bedroom. Nothing at all but a gorgeous, antique armoire that seemed out of place among the mission style furniture.

“No silk sheets?” she teased.

He didn’t smile back.

She nibbled the candy and drank again, feeling his stare to her toes.

“Na,” he said slowly, still fixated on her. “You slide too much on silk. And I like to plant myself firmly at the start.”

“The start?” she croaked.

He moved closer, took the beer from her hand and set it on the dresser, then drew the candy to her mouth. “Take another bite.” She did. “Now give me some.” She held it to his mouth, and he ate from her hand, taking the last piece.

Dear Jesus, the guy even made chewing look like erotic art, and she couldn’t look away as she swallowed the candy, a lump down her throat.

“I like when you swallow,” he murmured. “You have no idea how many times I’ve replayed our last date in my mind.” He kissed her, fast and barely there. “Those firm lips wrapped around me, swallowing me down.” He kissed her again. “You really had me by the balls. Literally.”

She wanted to laugh but couldn’t draw in a breath. Instead, she stared into his eyes, trapped by the desire there.

“I was desperate for you. Would have done anything you wanted for you to finish.” He stroked her cheek. “I want that for you. For you to feel that kind of need.”

“Oh.” Not the most intelligent response, but she couldn’t think past her sexual glands.

“You like when I kiss you?”

“I-I do.” She moaned into his lips when he sipped at her mouth. Good Lord, he’d put on the full-court press, and she hadn’t been prepared. She’d figured to seduce him again, not be the one trapped by her libido.

“You taste so fucking good.” The obscenity got lost under his groan. He kissed her with a hungry desperation. One she felt too.

She found herself clutching his shoulders and pulling him closer, shoving her breasts against his broad chest, and riding that long ridge of his desire against her belly.

His hands began moving, over her clothing everywhere, but not delving beneath.

Frustrated because, though he kissed her with fervor, he seemed way too slow in trying to get her naked, she tore herself from his hold, took the hem of her shirt, and whipped it over her head.

“Damn.” His eyes appeared black, no longer green. “You’re beautiful.”

She felt beautiful. She’d never been looked at the way he stared at her, as if she was precious. Lara reached behind her, attempting to loosen the bra, when Johnny trapped her arms there.

“Don’t move.” He kissed her again, this time cupping her breasts in his hot hands.

“Oh yeah. Take it off,” she encouraged when she could breathe. She thrust her chest forward, but Johnny would only caress her nipples, molding her breasts, not baring them. “Johnny…”

“Patience. That’s our word of the day.”

“Ass.”

He gave a low laugh. “A three letter word for a place on you I’d like to know better.”

“Johnny.”

“No. This time I’m in charge, and I’m not rushing this. By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to want to scream. You’ll come so hard over my cock—the second time you come, I mean—that you’ll squeeze an orgasm right out of me.”

Before she could ask, he added, “I’ll use condoms, I swear. And yeah, I said condoms, with an S. Because once won’t cut it with you. No way in hell.”

Another squadron car from Osan ... 

Aloha to Lynnette Austin and EVERY BRIDE HAS HER DAY (Magnolia Brides Book 2)

CAN LOVE REVIVE A WILTING HEART?

Cricket O’Malley can’t wait to plant roots back home in Georgia, where she’s returned to restore an abandoned flower shop to its former glory. The only blemish? Her neighbor’s house is even more neglected than her old flower shop, and its occupant seems as surly as he is darkly handsome.

Devastated body and soul after a tough case went south, New York City detective Sam DeLuca thought he’d have no trouble finding solitude in the quiet Georgia town of Misty Bottoms, but his bubbly neighbor seems determined to shine happiness into Sam’s life. Sam is equally determined to close himself off, but his heart says otherwise…

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The luxury of staying home when the weather turns nasty, of working in PJs and bare feet, and the fact that daydreaming is not only permissible but encouraged, are a few of the reasons middle school teacher Lynnette Austin gave up the classroom to write full-time. Lynnette grew up in Pennsylvania’s Alleghany Mountains, moved to Upstate New York, then to the Rockies in Wyoming. Presently she and her husband divide their time between Southwest Florida’s beaches and Georgia’s Blue Ridge Mountains. A finalist in RWA's Golden Heart Contest, PASIC's Book of Your Heart Contest, and Georgia Romance Writers' Maggie Contest, she’s published five books as Lynnette Hallberg. She’s currently writing as Lynnette Austin. Having grown up in a small town, that’s where her heart takes her—to those quirky small towns where everybody knows everybody...and all their business, for better or worse. 

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Lynnette’s Tip for the Perfect Wedding

He’s asked you to be his wife. After you’ve shared the good news with family and close friends, what should you do? Save that date! Choosing a date can start the whole ball rolling. It will help with colors, theme, and food. It will help you decide on that all-important dress! If you have lots of out-of-towners attending, keep this in mind as well as a venue and weather conditions. Florida outdoor weddings are wonderful, but in July or August? The heat and humidity will be unwelcome guests.

A spring wedding can be light and breezy with pastels and tulips, daffodils, lilacs, and peonies. Think summer and it’s bright with so many flowers to pick from. Sunflowers to roses, magnolias to sweet peas. Autumn weddings bring to mind the russets and burnt oranges, the deep reds and golds. Chrysanthemums and fall foliage, golden and dark orange roses, dahlias and gerberas. For winter weddings, red and cream roses, mistletoe, gardenias and orchids, along with Star of Bethlehem. The colors, feel, and flowers will be much easier to deal with once you save that date.

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Lynette offers an excerpt from EVERY BRIDE HAS HER DAY ... 

“Hold on a sec.” Sam raised a finger and headed back inside. Grabbing the small radio he’d found tucked inside a closet, he placed it on the ledge above the sink, dialed up a station that played a lot of Frank Sinatra, and opened the window. The music drifted into the twilight.

In another cupboard, he found a stub of a candle in a squat holder. His aunt Gertie’d probably kept it in case of a power outage. It would do. He lit it and stepped outside to find Cricket curled up on the back porch swing, Hobo at her feet.

“So you decided to come home,” he said to the dog. “You’ve been gone half the day.”

In answer, Hobo thumped his tail on the porch.

“Yeah, I know. You heard steak was on the menu for dinner.”

The tail thumped harder, and Cricket laughed, a warm, sultry sound.

Sam set the candle on a small side table, his system on high alert.

Cricket O’Malley. The girl-next-door meets sex goddess.

He didn’t understand it, but that didn’t seem to matter. Chemistry fairly sizzled between them.

He cleared his throat, then leaned down beside the fire circle. After he got a nice little blaze started, he pulled an old bench close. “I know we don’t need the heat—” He broke off. No, they sure didn’t. If they got within ten miles of each other, they generated enough of their own. “I mean, uh, I thought it might add a little ambiance.”

“Nothing I enjoy more than sittin’ around a campfire.”

“Have a seat then, and I’ll start the steaks.”

After he tossed them on the grill, he inched down beside Cricket.

The woman smelled like heaven. Or sin. He couldn’t decide which and slung an arm over the bench back. Hobo jumped up beside him.

Sam slid closer to Cricket to give the dog more room.

Hobo took it and more.

“You’re crowding me, boy.”

Those big eyes stared up at him, then Hobo threw his head back in an ear-piercing howl.

“Stop that!”

The dog answered with another mournful cry.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” He tried to move the dog off the bench, but he’d become a boneless, dead weight.

Cricket laughed. “I think we both know what he wants.”

Sam let out a half-laugh. “You up for it?”

“I can handle it if you can.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m up for it.” He rolled his eyes. “Wrong way to put that, but—”

He broke off as she laid a hand on the side of his face, leaned into him, and gave him a taste of heaven.

“Not enough,” he muttered, pulling her closer, dipping his lips again and angling them to take more. He trailed kisses along her neck, then moved back to her mouth. His hands moved down her arms, brushed the sides of her breasts.

A log dropped and sent up a loud popping and a shower of sparks.

He drew back and laid his forehead against hers, noticed, thank you God, her ragged breathing matched his own. “Cricket—”

“Shhh.” She laid a finger over his lips. “Let’s just accept that for what it was.”

“What was it?”

“Darned if I know.” She laughed. “But Hobo’s quiet.”

Sam looked at the dog who, job done, had hopped off the bench and rested in the grass. “I’m liking that dog more every day.”

Aloha to Gwyn Cready and FIRST TIME WITH A HIGHLANDER

Gwyn Cready combines two of my favorite elements in historical romance - time travel and Scotland - in FIRST TIME WITH A HIGHLANDER, Book 2 in Sirens of the Scottish series.  Gwyn joins us for a cozy chat about the inspiration behind her time-travel romances ....

People often ask me why I like to write time travel romance, and it’s a two-part answer, because there are really two questions in there—why do I like to write romance, and why do I like to write time travel.

I began to write with the intention of getting published in June, 1997 to honor my younger sister, who was a poet and photographer and who had died suddenly the month before. The sort of book I wanted to write was a book like the one a friend had given me a few months earlier—Outlander. At that time, I’d never read a romance before, and I COULDN’T PUT IT DOWN. Jamie is the best sort of hero—devoted, funny, brave, smart, and supportive of the heroine. I was so hopped up on the first three Outlander novels, it was pretty much all I could talk about in the spring of 1997—and it was one of the things I talked to my sister about since her college boyfriend had been named Jamie and like the heroine in Outlander, my sister’s name was Claire. It was the last conversations I ever had with her.

So there I am, in 1997, wanting to honor my sister with a book, and certain the book I want to write is a romance like Outlander. Time travel fit in nicely for me. Outlander is a time travel novel, of course, but I’d been a time travel fan before that. The Back to the Future movies are my holy grail of time travel. I loved Somewhere in Time, of course, as well as the Terminator movies, Time After Time, and Groundhog Day. Time travel lets you quickly throw your character into adversity and see if he/she sinks or swims. The question you want readers asking in romance novels is “How, with all these challenges, will the hero and heroine still end up together?” Time travel adds another layer to that tension, specifically, “How will they end up together when each is destined to be in his/her own time?” In my mind, one of the most heroic things a character can do is give up his own time in order to be with the person he/she loves, and that’s always a tender and gripping moment to write in my books.

Which brings us to First Time with a Highlander. Serafina and Gerard were such fun characters to chase through a novel. As with Just in Time for a Highlander, the first book in the Sirens of the Scottish Borderlands series, I wanted to shake things up a bit by having the hero be the person who travels to the past. Gerard is an ad man—and since I spent twenty years working in brand management at a big pharma company, I know what ad men are like. The women in this series hold positions of unusual power for women in the eighteenth century, and Serafina is no exception. She inherited a shipping concern from her father, but her blackguard of an ex-fiancé has run the business into the ground. He’s ruined her socially and financially, but Serafina is not one to take things lying down. She uses herbs she’s, ahem, “borrowed” from a famed spell-caster to summon a man to help her claim the cargo from the ship’s final voyage before her fiancé can get his hands on it. She only needs a man for one night and…well, you can imagine what that leads to in the hands of an inexperienced spell user. But Serafina is willing to pay the price—in fact, she’s quite willing once the smart, dashing Gerard appears.

Vintage Scotch whisky bottle
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She needs a man—but only for a night

What do you get when you imbibe centuries-old whiskey—besides a hangover the size of the Highlands? If you’re twenty-first century ad exec Gerard Innes, you get swept back to 18th-century Edinburgh and into the bed of a gorgeous, fiery redhead. Gerard has only a foggy idea what he and the lady have been up to…but what he does remember draws him into the most dangerous and exhilarating campaign of his life.

Be careful what you wish for…

Serafina Seonag Fallon’s scoundrel of a fiancé has left her with nothing, and she’s determined to turn the tables. If she can come up with a ringer, she can claim the cargo he stole from her. But the dashing man she summons from the future demands more than a night, and Serafina finds it easier to command the seas under her feet than the crashing waves he unleashes in her heart.

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Gwyn Cready is a writer of contemporary, Scottish, and time travel romance. She’s been called “the master of time travel romance” and is the winner of the RITA Award, the most prestigious award given in romance writing. She has been profiled in Real Simple and USA Today, among others. Before becoming a novelist, she spent 25 years in brand management. She has two grown children and lives with her husband on a hill overlooking the magical kingdom of Pittsburgh.

Learn more about Gwyn and his books at cready.com. Sourcebooks is hosting a special giveaway at this link.

Mahalo,

Kim in Baltimore

Aloha Spirit in Charm City

Aloha to Sherri Browning and THE GREAT ESTATE

 

Pulled apart by past mistakes. Driven by a passion neither could deny.

Sophia Thorne was young and inexperienced when she married the dashing Earl of Averford…and through dark and troubled times, their relationship nearly came to an end. Now she’s determined to transform herself into the fiery, ardent lover she always wanted to be, giving them a second chance at love… before they’re lost to each other forever.

It took nearly losing Sophia for Gabriel to realize he had allowed his love for his great estate to distract him from his beautiful wife. But that time is over. Despite all the obstacles standing in their way, Gabriel vows to teach Sophia what it is to truly love…and to be loved by a husband devoted heart and soul to her every desire.

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Sherri Browning writes historical and contemporary romance fiction, sometimes with a paranormal twist. She is the author of critically acclaimed classic mash-ups Jane Slayre and Grave Expectations. A graduate of Mount Holyoke College, Sherri has lived in western Massachusetts and Greater Detroit Michigan, but is now settled with her family in Simsbury, Connecticut. Find her online at sherribrowningerwin.com. 

Downtown Abbey exhibit at Winterthur Musseum

Perfect for fans of Downton Abbey, the third in Sherri Browning’s Thornbrook Park series, The Great Estate, comes out this August!  I asked Sherri if she could be an original (new) character on Downton Abbey - who would she be?

I would be Mrs. Lucy Longchamps, a divorcee and dear old American friend of Cora’s who comes to visit and leads Cora into misadventures. Lord Grantham would detest Lucy for being such a bad influence on Cora. Lucy would finally wear out her welcome when found in bed with one of Mary’s favorite suitors. Take that, Lady Mary! I would really love a chance to bring Mary down a notch.

Sourcebooks is hosting a giveaway at this link ... and offers an excerpt from THE GREAT ESTATE:

Thornbrook Park. A warm wave of pride filled him at the sight as Dale drove them up the winding way. The chimneys appeared first over the crest of the hill, followed by the slate roof, and finally the rose stone facade. How could he have stayed away so long?

Sophia wouldn’t be expecting him. He planned to surprise her, perhaps persuade Finch not to even announce his return. He would simply appear at the dinner hour, dressed to the nines, and act as if he had been there the entire time. Darling, I believe the quail is cooked perfectly, but not quite the same as when I shoot it myself… No, it wouldn’t do. She hated it when he left her alone to go off hunting. He’d always known it, but he couldn’t seem to give it up. Old habits. In truth, he couldn’t wait to get his boots on, the good English ones he’d left behind, take up his rifle, and stomp off into the woods. His woods. Alas, there would be no more hunting. At least, not as frequently, and certainly not right away. Not until he was certain that he wouldn’t upset Sophia further. Not until she forgave him.

Perhaps he could suggest other activities that they could do together? His brow shot up. He knew just what activities he had in mind, but they would have to work up to that. Slowly. He meant to court her properly, one step at a time.

“Now, Dale, I don’t want a fuss,” he said. “It’s good to be home but no need for a celebration. I mean to slip in quietly.”

Aloha to Jane Ashford and A RADICAL ARRANGEMENT

A classic Regency romance from beloved author Jane Ashford!

Brash and Handsome

Sir Justin Keighley is all wrong for a proper young lady like Margaret Mayfield. Everyone knows he is shocking in his opinions, arrogant in his manner, and completely without respect for the common decencies of civilized society. Margaret absolutely will not marry him—no matter what her parents say.

Beautiful and Shy

Margaret was everything Sir Justin detested in a woman—timid, sheltered, and obedient to a fault. It’s not until she runs away from him that he finds he must give chase. Margaret is discovering she can be bold and rebellious—intrepid enough to do what she must, and more exciting than Justin ever imagined possible. She’s the last woman he would have expected to lead them both into uncharted territory…

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Jane Ashford, a retired teacher and editor, is now a beloved author of historical and contemporary romances. She has been published in various parts of the world, including Sweden, Italy, England, Denmark, France, Russia, Latvia, Spain, and of course the U.S. Jane is also a two-time RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award nominee. Born in Ohio, Jane now divides her time between Boston and Los Angeles.

Sourcebooks is hosting a giveaway at this link ... and offers an excerpt from A RADICAL ARRANGEMENT:

Sir Justin Keighley stood in the doorway, looking them over with a slight, satirical curve of his lips. He wore, like the other gentlemen, conventional evening dress, but this superficial similarity was their only common ground. Ralph Mayfìeld, Philip Manningham, the squire, and John Twitchel were none of them unattractive men or negligible personalities. Each, in his own sphere, had a certain dignity and authority, and all had the confidence that respect engendered. Yet somehow, the moment he entered the room and before he spoke a word, Justin Keighley eclipsed them. It was not charm. Indeed, the newcomer did not look at all pleasant or ingratiating. And it was not mere social position. Keighley held an ancient baronetcy and a substantial fortune, but any of twenty men his hosts were accustomed to meeting ranked above him. Ralph Mayfield could not have said why he felt subdued as he came forward to greet his final guest.

The squire’s wife might have enlightened him. As she had told a friend at a Bath assembly two years ago, “Justin Keighley is a vastly attractive man, my dear. And not just to women. All the young men ape him, my son among them. I don’t know just how it is, but he has a great influence without appearing to seek it in the least. Indeed, sometimes I think he dislikes the idea. But it goes on. It’s something in his manner. No doubt you’ve noticed it yourself. He makes you look at him.” Mrs. Camden had been embarrassed by this speech, but it was quite true. And Keighley’s attraction was the more mysterious because he was not conventionally handsome. Though tall and well made, with broad shoulders and a good leg, his features were rough—a jutting nose and heavy black brows that nearly obscured expressive hazel eyes. And he took no care with his dress, a rarity in an elegant age. His coats were made so that he could shrug himself into them without help; his collars did not even approach his jaw; and he had once been observed in White’s with a distinct thumb mark on his Hessian boots, giving one of the dandy set what he described as “a shuddering palpitation.”

But these sartorial eccentricities were outweighed by Sir Justin’s political influence and sagacity. He was an intimate of the Prince Regent and Lord Holland, and important in the Whig Party. These facts did not explain his fascination for a great number of people, chiefly women, who hadn’t the slightest interest in politics, but they amply justified the Mayfìelds’ attention and suppressed antipathy.

“Good evening,” Keighley said to Mr. Mayfield in a deep, resonant voice. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“Not at all, not at all. Come in. You know everyone, I think.”

Sir Justin bowed his head with a sardonic smile. He always met precisely the same people at his yearly dinner with the Mayfields, presumably those they were certain he could not “corrupt” with his aberrant opinions, and he always felt the same infuriated boredom. For the fiftieth time he wondered why he came. There was no hope of amusement or chance of advantage here. The Mayfields and their friends were just the sort of smug, resolutely conventional people he despised. They held to the views their fathers had bequeathed them and attacked all others. If one tried to make them change even a fraction, they shook their heads and muttered of treason.

He looked around the room. The only addition this year was the Mayfìelds’ daughter. He had forgotten her name, but he remembered that she had come out last season. She looked as one would have expected: a pallid, simpering creature. Keighley shrugged. Politics forced him to endure fools occasionally. The Prince would want to know the climate of opinion here in Devon. He supposed he could get through this evening as he had previous ones, through a combination of stoicism and bitter inner laughter.

Margaret watched him with awed apprehension as he settled beside Mrs. Camden and began to chat with her about London. She had never actually spoken to Sir Justin; her mother had seen to that. But she had heard him talked of so many times that she felt she knew what he would say in response to a wide variety of remarks. It would always be shocking. She gazed at him in an effort to understand how any man could be so utterly depraved in thought and action, almost expecting his rugged face to contort in a grimace of malevolence and his chiseled lips to emit some horrifying revelation.

Suddenly Sir Justin looked up and met her eyes from across the room. He seemed at first startled to find her staring, then his mocking smile appeared again, and he raised one black brow, holding her gaze. Embarrassed, Margaret tried to look away, but something in his hazel eyes prevented it. A spark glinted there, and she felt a kind of tremor along her nerves. It was utterly unfamiliar and unsettling, like a violent thrill of feeling. How could a stranger affect her so? This must be fear, she thought; I am afraid of him. She began to tremble, but still she could not turn her head away. He seemed to understand her reaction and, amused, to prolong the contact on purpose.

Finally Keighley laughed and bent to answer some question of Mrs. Camden’s. Margaret jerked back in her chair and clasped her shaking hands so tightly that the knuckles whitened. He was a dreadful man. She would not speak to him, and if she ever saw him again, she would run away.

Aloha to Susanna Kearsley and A DESPERATE FORTUNE

A DESPERATE FORTUNE by Susanna Kearsley

9781492602026 * $16.99/TP * ON-SALE: April 7, 2015

For nearly three hundred years, the cryptic journal of Mary Dundas has lain unread. Now, amateur code breaker Sara Thomas has been sent to Paris to crack the cipher.

Jacobite exile Mary Dundas is filled with longing—for freedom, for adventure, for the family she lost. When fate opens the door, Mary dares to set her foot on a path far more surprising and dangerous than she ever could have dreamed.

As Mary’s gripping tale is revealed, Sara is faced with challenges that will require letting go of everything she thought she knew—about herself, about loyalty, and especially about love. Though divided by centuries, these two women will be united in a quest to discover the limits of trust and the coincidences of fate.

Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Susanna Kearsley is known for her meticulous research and exotic settings from Russia to Italy to Cornwall, which not only entertain her readers but give her a great reason to travel. Her lush writing has been compared to Mary Stewart, Daphne du Maurier, and Diana Gabaldon. She hit the bestseller lists in the U.S. with The Firebird (a RITA winner) as well as, The Winter Sea and The Rose Garden (both RITA finalists and winners of RT Reviewers’ Choice Awards). Other honors include National Readers' Choice Awards, the prestigious Catherine Cookson Fiction Prize, and finaling for the UK's Romantic Novel of the Year Award. Her popular and critically acclaimed books are available in translation in more than 20 countries and as audiobooks. She lives in Canada, near the shores of Lake Ontario.

CONTEST:

Sourcebooks is offering 10 readers the chance to attend a LIVE online event with Susanna Kearsley. To enter, find the HIDDEN MESSAGE within the excerpt below and use it to crack the SECRET CODE. Email the correct answer to publicity@sourcebooks.com. Winners will be announced on March 20th.

Excerpt from A Desperate Fortune:

My cousin often said that men were clueless, and in this instance that seemed to be the case. If Luc thought it was normal for his ex-wife to arrange for him to meet me, clearly he had not shared my experience with couples who’d divorced. Even Jacqui, who’d be happy not to be in the same time zone as her exes, kept a faintly jealous eye on all their new associations, and she never would have volunteered them to chauffeur another woman.

Luc was waiting.

“Never mind,” I said. “It doesn’t matter.”

Usually, if I were honest, I did feel uncomfortable in cars I wasn’t used to, though this morning in Denise’s car I had been too distracted by her driving speed to notice. And as I settled now into the passenger seat of Luc’s car while he swung my door closed and walked round to his own, I felt a sense of the familiar that distracted me as well, until I put my finger on its cause.

“Is this a Peugeot 207?” I asked him as he slid behind the steering wheel.

“It is. An old one, though. 2009.”

That would explain things. I nodded and said, “Jacqui’s second ex-husband had one of these, only his was a coupe cabriolet, not a hatchback.”

“I wanted that one, too.” Luc smiled as he released the handbrake. “But Noah was still small and there was no place for his car seat.”

As we moved off from the curb I cast a glance into the back and saw a child’s booster seat. “How old is Noah now?”

“He’s nine years old. Nine and two-thirds, if you ask him.” He had seen what I was looking at. “When he turns ten he plans to set that booster seat on fire, I think. He knows it is the law for him to use it, but he hates it.”

So then Noah was a law-abiding rebel. Like his father, I decided, for although Luc drove with care he had a sure touch with the gear lever that made me think he would have much preferred an open road where he could shift into top gear straightaway instead of being trapped within these winding streets that slowed his speed.

He was wearing jeans again today. I liked his legs in jeans, though in the confines of the car their muscled length was stretched so close to mine I had to force my gaze elsewhere to keep from staring.

[WIN a chance to attend a LIVE online event with Susanna Kearsley! To enter, go to this link and find the preview chapters posted there. Break the code: 8.24.9 and email the correct word to publicity@sourcebooks.com.]

We were crossing the bridge now, and leaving the chateau behind.

“Does she have very many ex-husbands, your cousin?” he asked.

“Only two. They were both very difficult men.”

“This is why she is able to take on such difficult authors,” he guessed, “like this Alistair Scott. Denise tells me that he and Claudine have a history.”

Not knowing the details, I didn’t have any real comment on that. But, “I wouldn’t say Alistair’s difficult, really. He’s just very focused. That’s not a bad thing, for a researcher.”

“No.” I felt Luc’s sideways glance. “No, it isn’t.”

We drove for a moment in silence, until something struck me.

“Why Wednesdays?” I asked.

“Pardon?”

“Why do you work from home Wednesdays?”

He paused as though having to search back in our conversation to find the stray comment he’d made that had led to my question. “Oh. Noah still has Wednesday afternoons off, so it’s necessary.”

I had a vague and distant memory of my childhood friend and neighbor, Ricky, when he’d moved across from France, complaining that in Britain he was made to go to school on Wednesdays, so I gathered it was normal here for schoolchildren to have a midweek holiday. But Luc was talking as though Noah lived with him all week, not just at every other weekend, and that seemed to me less normal. It was probably rude just to ask, I knew, but curiosity outweighed my manners. “So, where does your son live? With you, or Denise?”

“We share custody. Alternate weeks. We switch over on Mondays. It’s becoming more common in France, this arrangement,” he said. “It’s better for Noah, I think. And for us. You don’t have children?”

“No.” I’d have found it much easier winning my battle to not watch his legs if they hadn’t been constantly working the clutch and the gas pedals as he changed gears, but I managed to pull my gaze up in time to catch his small shrug.

“They take work, they keep you busy.” Once again he briefly looked in my direction, this time with a smile, and added, “Noah more than most. You’ll likely have him underfoot when he discovers what you’re doing. He’ll think code breaking is cool—he’ll want to help you.”

I returned the smile to be polite, and looked away. I didn’t dislike children, but I wasn’t all that keen on being “helped” by one. And when it came to something like the breaking of a cipher, there was no real help a nine-year-old could give me.

Or at least, that’s what I thought on Wednesday afternoon. By Thursday night, on New Year’s Eve, I’d learned that I was wrong.

Aloha to Grace Burrowes and THE FIRST KISS

Coming next week from Grace Burrowes, THE FIRST KISS is Book 2 in her Sweetest Kisses series:

Classical pianist Vera Waltham is recovering from a bad break up by taking a hiatus with her daughter in the Damson Valley countryside. She’s content with her music, and has no interest in complicating her life with further attempts at romance.

Attorney James Knightley is a numbers guy who reads contractual fine print for lunch, and wants nothing to do with damsels, in distress or otherwise. Nobody is more surprised than James when he falls for Vera Waltham, and the only contract on James’s mind when it comes to Vera is holy matrimony.

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New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Grace Burrowes' bestsellers include The Heir, The Soldier, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal, Lady Sophie's Christmas Wishand Lady Eve's Indiscretion. Her Regency romances have received extensive praise, including starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and Booklist. Grace is branching out into short stories and Scotland-set Victorian romance with Sourcebooks. She is a practicing family law attorney and lives in rural Maryland.

graceburrowes.com
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Sourcebooks is hosting a giveaway here and offers an excerpt from THE FIRST KISS ...

“May I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Play the piano for me?”

Nowhere near play with me, but this was Vera. “You want to do a lesson now?”

“This isn’t a lesson. I’m asking you to play for me, James. Get out your old favorites, the friends you turn to when you’re heartsore and soul weary, the consolation pieces that aren’t for everybody else. You play them for yourself.”

She curled up across the room in a pap-san chair and pulled an old quilt around her.

Could he do this?

If Vera had asked James to go to bed with her, he would have known he was competent to bring her pleasure, to satisfy her most intimate wishes and secret, sexual desires. But this? To play? For her?

She wanted music that had called to him, spoken to his soul and become a part of him. Pieces of his heart.

James set his hands on the keyboard, took a slow, deep breath, and began to play. He played from memory, his fingers finding the notes easily in the dim light. He could play this waltz with his eyes closed, and he had, many times. He hadn’t heard it since the night his mother had died, but she’d loved it too, and his hands would never forget how to craft the phrases and melodies.

“Oh, James, the Chopin.” Vera signed her pleasure at his choice, and James’s heart sighed with her. He could do this for her, soothe her with music the way she’d made music to soothe and delight so many others. The waltz shifted from a work he’d set aside years ago – a grieving piece – to a gift from him to Vera.

Only to Vera.

When the last rippling rise of notes died away, Vera remained curled up, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted.

James had played her to sleep. He took a moment to memorize the sight of her, safe and at peace under the quilt his mother had made for her hope chest.

Then he thought back over other pieces he’d set aside, the ones that were too sweet or too sorrowful or both, and he began to play again.

Aloha to Robin Kaye and A LITTLE ON THE WILD SIDE

A woman who gets what she wants…

Bianca Ferrari—ex-supermodel turned successful business woman—seems to have it all: beauty, brains and a career she loves. And she did it all by herself…through sheer force of will and ruthless determination. So when her life is suddenly turned upside down, it’s hard for her to admit that going it alone may not be an option…

A man who knows what she needs…

Sexy, rugged and down-to-earth, Trapper Kincaid has a knack for attracting all kinds of women—mostly the wrong kind. When he finds out that the exhaustingly independent and drop-dead gorgeous Bianca is in serious need of help, he knows he’s the man for the job. But Bianca isn’t going to make it easy…

Amazon | B&N | BAM | !ndigo | IndieBound | Kobo

Robin Kaye is a professional writer and winner of the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart award for her first novel, Romeo, Romeo. Her romantic comedies feature sexy, nurturing heroes and feisty, independent heroines. She lives with her husband and three children in Mt. Airy, Maryland.

robinkayewrites.com | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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Robin offers an excerpt from A LITTLE ON THE WILD SIDE:

Trapper sweet--talked his way into Bianca’s office with a bouquet of flowers and chocolate. He liked her receptionist, Terri. He’d talked to her several times when he and Bianca had been seeing each other, and it didn’t sound as if she’d heard he was persona non grata lately. He hoped he wasn’t getting Terri into trouble, but damn, he didn’t know what the hell to do. Bianca’s doorman refused his bribe the night before and wouldn’t let him into the building without announcing him first. This was his only other option.

Terri had been easy. He just dropped his sister--in--law Toni’s name, and she let him wait in Bianca’s office. She even promised not to tip off Bianca and spoil his surprise. Then she told him she wished her boyfriend was half as romantic, gave him a wink, and unlocked Bianca’s office door.

He stepped into her corner office, and the scent of Bianca hit him—-he was hard in a matter of seconds. He digested the differences between her office and her apartment. Her office was cool, modern, sleek, and so unlike her home. He’d been shocked when Bianca invited him to her place, opened the door, and he saw the collection of comfortable antiques—-not like something you’d see in a museum. No, it looked like something you’d see in your grandmother’s house—-a feather--stuffed sofa with an old quilt hanging over the back. Beautiful, yet comfortable pillows were scattered everywhere. Low lighting from torchieres gave the place a romantic glow. Rolled arms to drape a lover over, and sturdy oak tables in the kitchen and dining room, perfect for dinner or sex—-one memorable evening, both—-added to the reasons he’d fallen in love with the place.

Trapper took a seat behind Bianca’s desk and pulled his cowboy hat low over his eyes to cut the glare from the cold, hard--recessed lighting. He put his feet up and settled for a long wait. Terri had told him Bianca had canceled her morning appointments and was expected before noon. He sat back with his e--reader and caught up on law journals, while trying to keep his dick
at half--mast.

At eleven thirty the door swooshed open. Bianca walked in, her black cape floating around her. Her hair was longer than he remembered, and she had big bags under her eyes that no amount of makeup could disguise. She looked beautiful, way too thin, and ill.

She still hadn’t noticed him. She spun around, tossed her briefcase on the leather sofa, and turned her back, tugging off her cape. She might have lost weight, but damn, she still had the finest ass he’d ever seen.

He put a smile on his face—-the one he was told made women swoon. He figured he needed all the help he could get. He had a strong feeling she wouldn’t be happy being ambushed, but what choice did she give him?

He walked around her desk, leaned against it, watched, and waited for her to hang her cape—-a difficult task since the darn thing had no sleeves.

She turned. The first thing he noticed was that her breasts were larger, but maybe they just looked that way since she’d lost quite a bit of weight.

His gaze headed south and made an unplanned stop at her waistline. His smile froze. His jaw clenched. Blood rushed through his ears, making his temples throb. Every muscle in his body tensed.

Bianca—-his Bianca—-was pregnant? Definitely pregnant—-past the point where a man would wonder. Not ready--to--pop pregnant, but just--about--time--for--maternity--clothes pregnant. He wasn’t sure how pregnant that was, but shit, he was sure the baby she carried was his. He knew it the second she spotted him grinning like the fool he was and flashed him a guilty look. That was a nanosecond before what little color she’d had drained from the beautiful face that haunted his every waking moment and his dreams, leaving her looking like a corpse three weeks past her expiration date.

Bianca blinked, and her wide, green eyes rolled back in her head.

Oh shit. He raced for her.

Her long legs buckled, and he caught her just before she hit the floor.

His heart didn’t beat again until he felt her shallow breaths against his neck. He carried her to the couch and laid her down, brushing the baby--fine hair off her face. He sat beside her, waiting for her to wake up.

Trapper had heard pregnant women sometimes fainted, but he didn’t think they passed out for this long. It seemed like an eternity. He checked his watch. It had been less than a minute. He took a deep breath, felt her pulse strong and steady on her neck, and tried to keep the anger, terror, and helplessness out of his voice. “Come on, sweetheart. Time to wake up.”

Nothing.

Panic scratched at his insides like a feral cat trying to escape a trap.

She didn’t move.

Her lips were pale. The blue veins stood out in her forehead.

She looked like death.

He ran to the door and slammed it open. “I need some help here!”

In three strides, he returned to Bianca’s side, took her cold hand, warming it between his. “Bianca, sweetheart, please, just open your eyes.”

Terri ran in. She took one look at Bianca and stepped back.

“She passed out.”

“I’ll get James.” She ran from the room, screaming James’s name.

It seemed like forever until James ran in. “What happened?”

“I was waiting for Bianca when she arrived. She took one look at me and took a nosedive. I caught her just before she hit the floor.”

“She pukes all the time, but she’s never passed out that I know of.” He looked as panicked as Trapper felt. He turned to Terri. “Call 9--1--1.” When she didn’t move, he screamed. “Now!”

The poor girl burst into tears and grabbed Bianca’s phone.

Trapper placed Bianca’s hand on her belly, on top of the other resting there protectively. He stared in wonder. They were having a baby. He was going to be a father. He expected the fierce protectiveness, but he hadn’t expected the fear or the joy or the awesome weight of responsibility that settled on his chest. But most of all, he hadn’t expected the exhilarating feeling of knowing that together they had created a child. A child he loved. A child he would give his life for. A child who needed him.

His gaze rounded on James. He wanted to pick the man up and toss him out of the floor to ceiling window for allowing Bianca to get in this bad a shape. “What the hell happened to her?” His voice was low, threatening, and a hell of a lot calmer than he felt.

Terri’s eyes went wide, and she skittered away.

James stood his ground like a man preparing for a shoot--out. He arched a scholarly brow. “Nothing that won’t be remedied in five months. Where the hell have you been? Since I’ve handled the first four months, you get her for the finale. The woman is a full--time job. I recommend you clear your schedule.” He handed Trapper a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. “Here, you might want to read this. So far, Bianca’s only looked at the pictures.”

Aloha to Rebecca York and PRIVATE AFFAIR

Rebecca York is celebrating the release of PRIVATE AFFAIR, Book Three in the Rockford Security series ...

Model Olivia Winters comes home to escape her job in New York City, and finds herself compelled to investigate the suspicious suicide of a former high school classmate. She enlists the help of private investigator Max Lyon, an ex-detective from a troubled family. Posing as husband and wife, the pair uncovers a grisly trail of murder, and the danger propels them into each other's arms.

With a murderer on the loose, Max and Olivia realize they're in too deep, too late. They're getting close to the truth—and to each other's secrets.

Amazon – link
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iBooks – link

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Rebecca York’s writing has been compared to that of Dick Francis, Sherrilyn Kenyon, and Maggie Shayne. Her award-winning books have been translated into twenty-two languages and optioned for film. A recipient of the RWA Centennial Award, she lives in Maryland near Washington, DC, which is often the setting of her romantic suspense novels.

rebeccayork.com
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twitter.com/RebeccaYork43

Rebecca is hosting a giveaway at this link ...

... and offers an excerpt from PRIVATE AFFAIR:

Olivia reached for Max, pulling him to her, feeling his resistance and knowing when he finally gave up fighting what he wanted. What they both wanted.

She cupped the back of his head and brought his mouth to hers in a kiss she didn’t even pretend was part of reassurance. It was all heat and fury and relief that both of them had come through the incident all right.

He made a sound deep in his throat. A sound of surrender, she decided, as the kiss changed its focus. She had been the aggressor to start with. Now he took that role, and if she had been surer of him, she would have thought that he was staking his claim on her.

He gathered her close, his hands fumbling for the belt of the robe, opening the tie and letting the belt ends drop to the side before he swept the edges of the garment out of the way.

Aloha to Grace Burrowes and WHAT A LADY NEEDS FOR CHRISTMAS

 

Grace Burrowes is celebrating the holidays early WHAT A LADY NEEDS FOR CHRISTMAS, from Sourcebooks:

Lady Joan Flynn needs a husband—any husband—if she’s not to find scandal and mischief under her Christmas tree; Scottish wool magnate Dante “Hard-hearted” Hartwell needs an aristocratic wife to gain access to the financing that will keep his wool mills secure. Can holiday magic spin an expedient match into true love, and wary differences into trust?

Amazon: link
Barnes and Noble: link
iTunes: link

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Grace Burrowes' bestsellers include The Heir, The Soldier, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal, Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish and Lady Eve's Indiscretion. Her Regency romances have received extensive praise, including starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and Booklist. Grace is branching out into short stories and Scotland-set Victorian romance with Sourcebooks. She is a practicing family law attorney and lives in rural Maryland.

graceburrowes.com
Facebook: link
Twitter: link

Goodreads: link

Sourcebooks is sponsoring a holiday giveaway at this link.

Grace offers an excerpt from WHAT A LADY NEEDS FOR CHRISTMAS:

Dante and Joan’s wedding night has begun with a discussion of holiday gift-giving, though neither bride nor groom can stay focused on that topic for very long…

Joan stretched out her chilly foot, and encountered Dante’s calf. His bare, warm, hairy calf, because her husband slept without the benefit—or hindrance—of clothing.

He moved onto his side, facing Joan. “What shall I get you for Christmas, Mrs. Hartwell?”

“You’ve given me your very name. That’s gift enough.” Also his trust, his respect, his kisses…so many treasures.

He rolled to his back, suggesting Joan had provided the wrong answer.

“I don’t want your gratitude, madam. Loyalty, fidelity, and a good-faith effort to make something of this marriage will be a fine bargain on both of our parts. The marriage is as much opportunity for me as it is convenient for you.”

Joan did not want a fine bargain, but she did want the warmth her husband’s body gave off. She yielded to the craving and snuggled right up to his side. His arms came around her, as if they’d spent many nights visiting their way to shared sleep.

“I kept my nightgown on.”

“I know, lass. I’ll forgive you that modesty if you kiss me.”

She kissed him, and the contour of his lips told her he was smiling. “You should kiss me too, sir. My feet are cold.”

“You need your new husband to warm them up?”

Joan needed her new husband in so many ways. “Shall I take off my nightgown?” She didn’t want to, but Dante was naked, and the intimacies she’d tried hard not to dwell on were commencing.

“You feel safer with it on,” he said, shifting to blanket her with his body. “I’ll try not to tear it.”

Gracious. “I can stitch it back together if you do.”

He nuzzled her ear, sending a shivery feeling down Joan’s spine. “Kiss me some more, Mrs. Hartwell.”

Aloha to Victoria Roberts and MY HIGHLAND SPY

Oh, I have Alba on my mind ... Victoria Roberts joins us today to celebrate the release of MY HIGHLAND SPY, Book 1 in her new series Highland Spies:

This Highland Laird won't bow to the Crown
Laird Ruairi Sutherland refuses to send his only son away to be educated by the English. And he most definitely will not appear in Edinburgh to pay homage to a liege who has no respect for Scotland. So he does what any laird would do-he lies to the king. The last thing Ruairi expects is a beautiful English governess to appear on his doorstep.

But this lady spy might make him...
Lady Ravenna Walsingham is a seasoned spy who is sent to the savage Highlands to uncover a nefarious plot against the Crown. Playing the part of an English governess—a job easier said than done—she infiltrates the home of Laird Sutherland, a suspected conspirator.

If she doesn't betray him first
Ravenna soon discovers that the only real threat Sutherland poses is to her heart. But will the proud Highland laird ever forgive her when he discovers the woman he loves in an English spy? 

“An exciting Highland tale of intrigue, betrayal, and love.”
—Hannah Howell, New York Times bestselling author of Highland Master

“Roberts’ newest features a surprise-laden, quick-paced plot, replete with unconventional and fiercely independent characters. Her lyrical prose grabs readers’ attention, and the high level of emotional tension simply adds to the depth of the story. This book begs to be read and reread.”
—RT Book Reviews

Buy Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Books-A-Million

I asked Victoria ... what makes a successful spy-turned-governess?

Thank you so much for having me today at the SOS Aloha blog. Although I’ve never been to Hawaii, it is a place that is definitely on my bucket list.

I think what makes Lady Ravenna Walsingham successful at what she does is the fact that she longs to follow in her father’s footsteps. You see…her father, Lord Francis Walsingham, had been Queen Elizabeth’s principal secretary until his death. Little did anyone know that her sire had also been the queen’s spy. Given that Ravenna’s father had handled all of the royal correspondence and had determined the agenda of the council meetings, he had been a very influential man in his time.

But now it’s Ravenna’s time to shine.

Ravenna is a spy for King James and the Crown, the same as her father had been under Queen Elizabeth’s reign. When Ravenna was old enough to show an interest in political matters, her father had educated and conditioned her to one day take his place. She certainly lives in a man’s world, but that’s why she’s so proficient at doing what she does—a mere woman is the last thing anyone would expect.
Family is important to Ravenna but so is king and country. Under the guidance of her Uncle Walter, Ravenna is sent to the Scottish Highlands under the guise of a governess. She’s determined to fulfill her duty and obligations—well, only if a certain brawny Highland laird doesn’t continue to muddle her thoughts.
How far would you go for something you believe in?

Costumed guides at Linlithgow Palace

Victoria lives in western Pennsylvania with her husband of twenty one years and their two beautiful children—not to mention one spoiled dog. When she is not plotting her next Scottish adventure, she’s dragging her clan to every Scottish festival under the sun. Visit her at victoriarobertsauthor.com.

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Sourcebooks is giving away a print copy of MY HIGHLAND SPY to one randomly selected commenter in the US and Canada.  To enter the giveaway,

1.  Leave a comment about spywork - could you be a spy?

2.  Comments are open through Satruday, September 6, 10 pm in Baltimore.

3.  I'll post the winner on Sunday, September 7.

Mahalo,

Kim in Baltimore

Aloha Spirit in Charm City

Aloha to Victoria Roberts and MY HIGHLAND SPY - Teaser Tour and Giveaway

 

I’m happy to be back at SOS Aloha today, the sixth stop on the My Highland Spy Teaser Tour! 

My Highland Spy is the first book in my new Highland Spies’ series, and I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. 

This Highland Laird won't bow to the Crown
Laird Ruairi Sutherland refuses to send his only son away to be educated by the English. And he most definitely will not appear in Edinburgh to pay homage to a liege who has no respect for Scotland. So he does what any laird would do-he lies to the king. The last thing Ruairi expects is a beautiful English governess to appear on his doorstep.

But this lady spy might make him...
Lady Ravenna Walsingham is a seasoned spy who is sent to the savage Highlands to uncover a nefarious plot against the Crown. Playing the part of an English governess—a job easier said than done—she infiltrates the home of Laird Sutherland, a suspected conspirator.

If she doesn't betray him first
Ravenna soon discovers that the only real threat Sutherland poses is to her heart. But will the proud Highland laird ever forgive her when he discovers the woman he loves in an English spy?

We left off where Ravenna just received her next assignment and she’s none too happy about it. 

Excerpt Six/Chapter One:

The fact that she clearly had no voice in the matter grated on her very last nerve. Why would anyone want to travel to Scotland? That wild country had nothing to offer but a bunch of unkempt men in kilts waving broadswords and screaming battle cries. She didn’t mind when her assignments were closer to home, but the Highlands? With no mother or father to guide her sisters, Ravenna had become their anchor—and now that rock was uplifted once again.

She gave herself a moment alone in her father’s study to decide exactly what to say to her sisters. How could she make them understand? What could she possibly tell them that would be believable? There was no sense delaying the conversation. She knew she’d think of something. She always did.

Ravenna walked out into the fresh air to find the girls in the garden. The sun was shining, roses were in full bloom, and a rabbit scrambled out of her way on the garden path. She tried to show an ease that she didn’t necessarily feel. She was bothered by the fact that instead of enjoying a lovely day with her sisters, she found herself once again spinning tales to them. Sitting on a bench, she gathered her sisters around. Grace looked suspicious, Elizabeth bit her lip, and Kat couldn’t stand still.

“I want to tell you how proud I am of all of you. We have really pulled together as a family since Father passed and I know he would be pleased.”

Elizabeth smiled sadly. “I know Mother would be happy, too. Family was important to her.”

“Of course she would be. I wanted to tell you that I will be traveling soon.”

Grace had a disgusted look on her face. “When?”

“Two days.”

“When will you be back?” Grace folded her arms over her chest.

“I will be gone for a few months.”

Grace’s jaw dropped. “Months? You’re leaving us for…months?”

“Uncle Walter will see to your welfare.”

Kat sat down beside Ravenna. “Where will you go?”

“Uncle Walter asked me to do him a favor. The wife of his friend is gravely ill, and they need a govern­ess to care for their son for a few months. I’m doing this as a kindness for all the wonderful things that Uncle Walter has done for us.”

Elizabeth smiled easier. “Where will you go?”

“The Highlands.”

Grace gasped and her face was bleak. “Scotland? The country is full of nothing but barbarians. I didn’t think any of them were educated, let alone that some­one would actually need a governess for their son.”

Kat embraced Ravenna, followed shortly by Elizabeth. “We will miss you, Ravenna.”

Ravenna looked up and tapped the girls with her hand as Grace glared at her. “Why don’t you play in the garden so I can talk with Grace?”

She’d had enough experience with her sister to know the conversation that followed was not going to be an easy one. Perhaps Uncle Walter was right and they should arrange a marriage for Grace. On second thought, her sister’s loose tongue would more than likely drive her poor husband mad.

The girls ran off and Grace’s expression did not lighten.

“I know what you’re doing,” said Grace. She sat down beside Ravenna and actually growled. “You do not fool me for a moment—coming in at all hours of the night, having your secret meetings with Uncle Walter. There is only one reason why you would travel that far away from us for months.”

Ravenna closed her eyes and prayed for patience. “Grace…”

“You’re with child.”

Praise for MY HIGHLAND SPY:

“An exciting Highland tale of intrigue, betrayal, and love.”
—Hannah Howell, New York Times bestselling author of Highland Master

“Roberts’ newest features a surprise-laden, quick-paced plot, replete with unconventional and fiercely independent characters. Her lyrical prose grabs readers’ attention, and the high level of emotional tension simply adds to the depth of the story. This book begs to be read and reread.”
—RT Book Reviews

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Books-A-Million

IndieBound | !indigo | iBooks

Victoria Roberts writes sexy, award-winning Scottish historical romances about kilted heroes and warriors from the past. Prior to ever picking up a single romance novel, she penned her first young adult novella at 16 years old. Who knew her leather-studded motorcycle hero would trade in his ride and emerge as a kilt wearing Highlander wielding a broadsword? Victoria lives with her husband and their two beautiful children in western Pennsylvania. Visit her at victoriarobertsauthor.com.

Website: victoriarobertsauthor.com
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Sourcebooks will give away one copy of My Highland Spy to a lucky commenter (US and Canada only, please.) Gardens are beautiful. Do you like to sit and enjoy the beauty, or do you like to have your hands in the dirt? Comments are open through Saturday, August 30, 10 pm in Baltimore. I'll post the winner on Sunday, August 31.

Mahalo,

Kim in Baltimore
Aloha Spirit in Charm City

Join the tour ... 

8/18 – The Reading Café

thereadingcafe.com

8/19 – Books-n-Kisses
books-n-kisses.com

8/20 – Fiction Vixen Book Reviews
fictionvixen.com

8/21 – Long and Short Reviews
longandshortreviews.com

8/22 – From The TBR Pile
fromthetbrpile.blogspot.com

8/25 – SOS Aloha Book Blog
sosaloha.blogspot.com

8/26 – The Bookish Babe
thebookishbabes.blogspot.com

8/27 – Fresh Fiction
freshfiction.com

8/28 – Harlequin Junkie
harlequinjunkie.com

8/29 – Urban Girl Reader
urbangirlreader.com