Aloha to Vanessa Kelly and MY FAIR PRINCESS

Reminder - I have a special giveaway for August at this link.

First, Vanessa Kelly brought readers The Renegade Royals. Now, in a delightfully witty new series, she introduces The Improper Princesses—three young women descended from royalty, each bound for her own thrilling adventure . . .

Despite being the illegitimate daughter of a prince, Gillian Dryden is happily ignorant of all social graces. After growing up wild in Italy, Gillian has been ordered home to England to find a suitable husband. And Charles Valentine Penley, the excessively proper, distractingly handsome Duke of Leverton, has agreed to help transform her from a willful tomboy to a blushing debutante.

Powerful and sophisticated, Charles can make or break reputations with a well-placed word. But his new protégée, with her habit of hunting bandits and punching earls, is a walking scandal. The ton is aghast . . . but Charles is thoroughly intrigued. Tasked with taking the hoyden in hand, he longs to take her in his arms instead. Can such an outrageous attraction possibly lead to a fairytale ending?

Buy Links: Amazon | B & N | Google Play | iTunes | Kobo

Vanessa Kelly is an award-winning author who was named by Booklist, the review journal of the American Library Association, as one of the “New Stars of Historical Romance.” Her Regency-set historical romances have been nominated for awards in a number of contests, and her second book, Sex and The Single Earl, won the prestigious Maggie Medallion for Best Historical Romance. Her current series, The Renegade Royals is a national bestseller. Vanessa also writes USA Today bestselling contemporary romance with her husband, under the pen name of VK Sykes.

Author Links: Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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Vanessa offers an excerpt from MY FAIR PRINCESS ...

The bandit scum had killed Step-papa, his two bodyguards, and the young groom accompanying him on that fateful trip through the Gorges of Tiberio. It was fitting that Gillian would deliver justice in almost the same spot where those innocents had breathed out their last moments of existence.

Her brother cursed under his breath. “Gillian, this should not be your life.”

“Do I look like a proper young lady to you?”

He cast a sardonic glance at her attire—sheepskin coat, buckskin breeches, and riding boots. “You could be. You’re an attractive, respectable-looking girl when you’re not disguised as a bloodthirsty ruffian.”

“I thought you, of all people, would understand,” she said, exasperated.

“I do, but if you continue along this course, it will take its toll. Killing always does.”

She managed not to flinch. “I don’t have a choice.”

“There is always a choice, Gillian.”

She flicked her gaze back to Falcone, who was sitting on a rock as he smoked a pipe. He was also splendidly out in the open, but she had to get closer.

“There’s no point in discussing this. I’m doing it,” she said.

“No, I will—”

“It was my fault,” she hissed. “That’s why I have to do it. No one else.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

She had to swallow before she could answer. “It’s my fault that my stepfather was murdered. I sent him straight into Falcone’s line of fire.”

“So . . . it’s guilt that motivates you. Killing Falcone will likely be nothing more than an empty victory, if such is the case.” Griffin squeezed her arm. “As long as you continue to blame yourself, you will never find peace.”

She hoped to God he was wrong. He had to be wrong. “You are the most irritating man I have ever met.”

“So my wife informs me on a regular basis.”

Below them, Falcone knocked the tobacco out of his pipe and then hauled his formidable bulk to his feet. Gillian mentally cursed as he began to stroll over to join his men under the trees.

She turned and signaled to Stefano and his grandson. The old man pulled his pistol from the brace on his saddle, ready to cover her back.

“Griffin, help me or not, but I’m doing this now.” Before he could answer, she slung her rifle across her back and slithered away from the edge. As quickly as she dared, she crawled down the narrow, rutted path that ran along the rim of the gorge. If she stood, it was unlikely the men below would notice her, but she was taking no chances. Falcone had evaded her too many times over the years.

Her brother followed her. She could practically feel him seething with frustration, but he made not a sound. She had to give him credit—he was awfully good.

A few feet short of her goal, Gillian held up a hand to halt her brother’s advance. She stole a quick glance over her shoulder. Just behind them Stefano crouched, his tanned, leathery features cast into shade by his broad-brimmed hat. Griffin’s expression registered shock at the sight of the old man so close, pistols at the ready. Stefano might be getting on in years, but he was still vital and strong. He could move like a ghost, silent and lethal, at her command.

After crooking a finger to signal Griffin to follow, Gillian wriggled up to the edge of the cliff. She cautiously peered over the rocks and saw the bandits under a stand of beech trees, their attention on their flasks of wine as they waited for the rabbits to cook over the open flame. Unfortunately, Falcone was half obscured by one of his men and was partly in shade. She would have to stand up if she wanted a clear shot.

She came up in a crouch and pulled the rifle from her back. She’d already checked it three times, but did so once more. The Baker was a fine weapon. It had belonged to a Hussar, and had a light, short carbine, which made it easier to handle. But it was less accurate than rifles used by sharpshooters. Although she could reload quickly if she missed her shot, she’d make an inviting target while she did.

So get it right the first time.

Griffin came up beside her. He gave her a terse nod as he brought his rifle to bear on the men below. But he then sucked in a harsh breath when Gillian rose swiftly to her feet, taking aim at Falcone.

As bad luck would have it, an eagle soared right overhead, screeching out a cry. The men below automatically glanced up, directly at her and Griffin.

Gillian fired. The shot echoed through the gorge in a deafening report. Another boom followed as Griffin fired a second later. Falcone stumbled against a low rock, roaring as he clutched his shoulder. Another bandit went down like a sack of grain tossed from a cart.

The other bandits scrambled for their weapons.

“Get down, you daft woman,” Griffin barked, reaching to pull her away from the edge.

Gillian evaded his grasp, sliding on the rocky scree and almost losing her footing. Still, she managed to recover and reload. Griffin did the same as he let loose a string of hair-raising curses. She yanked up her rifle, took aim, and fired again.

A moment later, a bullet slammed into her shoulder, throwing her to the ground. The back of her head connected with rock, and pain exploded through her skull. Gillian lay there stunned, staring up at a sky that shimmered with a milky haze. Her ears rang with the sound of a thousand church bells.

Move, you idiot.

She couldn’t—not even one blessed finger.

A fairytale castle ....

www.neuschwanstein.de

Aloha to Susan Schild and SWEET CAROLINA MORNING (A Willow Hill Novel)

Reminder - I have a special giveaway for August at this link.

Life down South just got a whole lot sweeter in Susan Schild’s new novel about a woman whose happily-ever-after is about to begin…whether she’s ready for it or not. 

Finally, just shy of forty years old, Linny Taylor is living the life of her dreams in her charming hometown of Willow Hill, North Carolina. The past few years have been anything but a fairy tale: Left broke by her con man late-husband, Linny has struggled to rebuild her life from scratch. Then she met Jack Avery, the town’s much-adored veterinarian. And she’s marrying him.

Everything should be coming up roses for Linny. So why does she have such a serious case of pre-wedding jitters? It could be because Jack’s prosperous family doesn’t approve of her rough-and-tumble background. Or that his ex-wife is suddenly back on the scene. Or that Linny has yet to win over his son’s heart. All these obstacles—not to mention what she should wear when she walks down the aisle—are taking the joy out of planning her wedding. Linny better find a way to trust love again, or she might risk losing the one man she wants to be with—forever…

Buy Links: Amazon | B & N | Google | iTunes | Kobo

Susan Schild writes wholesome and sunny Southern fiction. She likes stories about charming men, missing money, adventuresome women, sweet dogs, and happily ever afters at any age.

Susan is a wife and a stepmother. She enjoys rummaging through thrift store for treasures like four dollar cashmere sweaters and amateur watercolor paintings. She likes taking walks with her Lab mix, Tucker, and his buddies. She and her family live in North Carolina.

Susan has used her professional background as a psychotherapist and a management consultant to add authenticity to her characters.

SWEET SOUTHERN HEARTS, the final book in the Willow Hill series, will be released in January of 2017. Readers can look forward to more adventures, new beaus, sinister ministers, lovebirds over fifty, a road trip for Mama and her pals, and maybe even an “I Do”...or two.

Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads

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Susan offers an excerpt from SWEET CAROLINA MORNING ... 

Chapter 1: Trouble in the Stepmother Hood

Though it was February, the galley kitchen at her future husband’s old farmhouse was steamy and hot, but Linny hardly noticed. Peering at the pages on the counter, she pushed back up her nose the reading glasses she'd had to borrow from Jack and double-checked to make sure she’d not left out any key ingredients. Why had she printed the recipe in ten-point font?

Tonight’s menu came from a website she’d found called Recipes for Picky Eaters, and she hoped it was a winner. She shook her head, chagrined at Jack’s reaction to the first possible menu she’d suggested. He’d kept that pleasant smile on his handsome face, but his eyebrows had shot up. Once they’d come back down to normal, his veto had been so diplomatic. “Darlin’, the mountain trout, braised Brussels sprouts, and beet salad sounds tasty, and I hope you cook them for me real soon, but eleven-year-old boys’ tastes tend to be more… well, mainstream.”

Blowing back a stray lock of hair, she turned on the oven light and peeked inside. The neat rows of crusted chicken breasts were browning nicely in their casserole dish home. The side dishes—creamy-looking mac and cheese and green bean casserole topped with onion rings—were both bubbling gently. She breathed in cooking smells and was transported back to Sunday suppers at the farm when Nana and Paw-Paw were still alive. Sighing, she felt a wash of safety, contentment, belonging. Those were just the feelings she wanted to infuse in this new little family.

Sliding into the chair, Linny admired the old kitchen table and touched the swirls of the tiger oak. It felt warm, solid. How many other families had sat around it and shared their lives over meals? She pictured her and her two men gathered around like in a scene from the Hallmark Channel, talking and laughing about their day. Jack and Neal would lavishly compliment her on her cooking, she’d blush, wave them off, and act as though it was no big deal. “I just threw the meal together,” she’d trill.

Trouble was, it was a big deal, and not just because Linny was just learning to cook. She rubbed her chin and thought about it. This morning, Jack had sat his son down after they’d cleaned up from their pancake breakfast and told him that he and Linny were marrying in the summer. Linny had just sat beside Jack and let him do the talking but felt a stab of sadness as she saw Neal’s face fall. Forlorn. He looked forlorn. When he asked in a trembling voice, “So, you and Mom aren’t ever getting back together?” she thought her heart might break. He still held out hope for his family to be whole again, the way it used to be. Never mind that Neal’s mother, Vera, had already remarried the year before. Though Linny and Jack had been dating officially since October, she’d only just started spending a lot of time with the two of them. Jack hadn’t wanted to introduce her to his son until they knew they were serious, so Linny was only just getting to know the young man.

Linny got a nervous flip in her stomach when she thought about becoming a stepmother. She’d gone thirty-eight years without children, and in a few short months, she’d be slipping into this new role without even a course or certificate. Linny got up and made herself a mug of Chamomile tea. Calming, the label said. She sat back down and blew on the tea to cool it and tried to quell the thrum of the squadron of butterflies that was revving up in the pit of her stomach.

Staring out the window, she thought of the other scenarios she’d been imagining, in living color and the minutest detail. If she messed up in this new job, he’d be that troubled teen with the shaved head who sold pot and lived in their basement after he dropped out of school in tenth grade. Neal would end up being the inebriated driver of a speeding car full of kids who drove them into a tree after leaving an unchaperoned party. Her heart banged as she tried to obliterate the image she’d seen in this morning’s News and Clarion -the mangled wreckage of a barely recognizable car driven by a teen going the wrong way on I-40. He’d killed himself and badly injured a whole vanload of kids on the way home late from a church youth group retreat. Pulling out her phone, she scrolled through her emails as the good smells wafted from the oven and felt her shoulders relax as she reread Mary Catherine's note. Nice to have a best friend who practiced family law.

Under the subject line, Impending Stepmother Hood, her friend wrote:

You asked for advice on your new parenting gig. Remember, a lot of divorced couples and blended families don’t talk civilly and don't act in the best interests of children. In my practice, we serve more of the send-the-kids-home-dirty and talk-trash-about-the-stepmother crowd. What not to do may be more useful than what to do.

Another disclaimer: I’m no expert on teenage boys just because I had one. Remember just a few months back, my nineteen-year-old almost got a DUI on a bike. Boys are knuckleheads between the ages of eleven and twenty-four. Your nerves will fray no matter how hard you try to be a good mother—or, harder yet, stepmother—but I will tell you what I know.

Meet me for a quick breakfast 7:00 a.m. Wednesday at Jumpin’ Joe’s Bean House?

Blowing out a sigh of relief, Linny replied, Perfect. She let herself sink back into the chair for a moment. Thank goodness for Mary Catherine.

Glancing at the clock, she rose and fretted as she checked the timer. Last weekend’s cookout at her place had been a bust. Neal had picked at his food, claiming he “'just wasn’t hungry.”' What American boy didn’t like grilled hamburgers and French fries made from scratch—from the actual potato? Could it be that he didn’t like her? She tried to dismiss the thought. How could he not like her when she was already so fond of him? He was whip smart, mostly well mannered, sensitive, and had an offbeat sense of humor that would catch her when she wasn’t expecting it and make her burst out laughing.

Tonight would be different, she decided, setting flatware firmly at the three places at the table. After grilling Jack extensively about his son’s food likes and dislikes, she’d scoured the internet for the perfect menu. If she was finally going to embark on this mother thing, she sure as heck was going to excel at it. She’d do the whole shebang: soccer weekends, volunteering on field trips, deep talks about life. She’d waited long enough for this little family, and now that she’d got it, dang it, she was going to do it right. The water glasses spilled over as she set them too firmly down on the table.

Jack and Neal were still at the barn with the mare that was about to foal. She picked up the walkie-talkie and pressed the button. “Supper’s ready, men.”

The line crackled. “Be right up,” Jack said cheerfully. “I’m hungry as a bear.”

She’d just finished putting on a slick of lip gloss as they clattered into the room, bringing with them a wash of fresh February air. Her heart still skipped a beat when Jack gave her a boyish grin, and she longed for a kiss, but there was sweet-faced Neal, right on his heels. She felt a pang of regret. She and Jack had talked about it and agreed on the rule of no smooching or PDAs in front of the boy right on the brink of becoming a man. She felt wistful. Leaning against the stove, she smiled as she took them in, amazed at how much commotion the two could make just walking into a room, with their thudding boots, unzippering coats, biceps punching, and easy laughter. Linny raked back her hair with her fingers. Man, her too quiet life had sure changed.

Book 1 in the series ...

Aloha to Jennifer Bernard and DRIVE YOU WILD (Love Between the Bases Book 3)

Reminder: I have a special giveaway to celebrate June at this link.

It’s game on for love in the third novel of USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Bernard’s sexy, baseball-themed series.

Kilby Catfish left-fielder Trevor Stark is a ballpark legend. With his good looks, hitting records, and played-for-the-fans arrogance, Trevor makes women lose their minds and men lose their cool. But every time the major league team comes calling, Trevor purposely keeps himself in the tiny Texas town. Why is heart-tuggingly top secret. Until the team owner’s daughter comes to Kilby . . . trying everything up her sexy sleeve to make Trevor talk.

Divorced and disillusioned at twenty-four, Paige Mattingly Austin Taylor is suddenly starting fresh as an intern at Catfish Stadium. She should want nothing to do with the sinfully hot ballplayer her dad warned her to stay away from. But when she discovers what Trevor is hiding from everyone, she realizes there’s much more to him than his face and multi-million-dollar arm. There’s a heart she seriously hopes to win.

Buy Links: Amazon | B & N | Google | iTunes | Kobo

Jennifer Bernard is a graduate of Harvard and a former news promo producer. The child of academics, she confounded her family by preferring romance novels to … well, any other books. She left big city life for true love in Alaska, where she now lives with her husband and stepdaughters. She’s no stranger to book success, as she also writes erotic novellas under a naughty secret name not to be mentioned at family gatherings.

Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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Jennifer offers an excerpt from DRIVE YOU WILD ...

“Are you afraid of the mighty Crush Taylor?” She took another step closer. “He’s not as bad as he seems, you know.”

“I’m not afraid of him.” He placed his hands on her shoulders to keep her from coming any closer. Her warmth carried into his skin, into his being, as if it was igniting him from within.

“And I’m not afraid of you.” She ducked underneath his hands in a quick move right out of the NBA. He took a step back and his calves hit the bench situated next to the lockers. She reached out in apology and suddenly they were right smack against each other, chest-to-chest.

Fire flashed down his spine, hot and urgent. He hauled her against him—oh, sweet Lord, she felt good. Soft and firm and shapely and alive and fresh and . . . then her mouth was under his, her lips parting, her breath warm, her flesh lush and sweet. It wasn’t a kiss so much as a head rush.

~~

Paige posted the first series of “Baseball’s Hottest Outfield” photos on the team’s Facebook page the next day. A few hours later a thousand people had clicked Like. Not only that, but the viewership of the page soared. It was shared all over the Internet, on Pinterest, on Twitter, on Instagram. It wasn’t just that the three men were criminally gorgeous. A big part of the appeal came from their racial mix and the blend of personalities. Trevor the stone-cold badass, Dwight the dynamic charmer, and Shizuko, the soulful rock star.

Paige knew it was all a crock, of course. Trevor wasn’t stone cold, Dwight wasn’t playful all the time, and Shizuko could outcrude most of the clubhouse, and that was saying something. But once those identities became set, people loved them. They were like cartoon characters instead of real people.

At the next game, the crowd roared when the outfielders took their positions on the field. Fans held up even more signs than they normally did. From the owner’s box, Paige scanned the crowd with her binoculars and read the signs out loud to Crush.

“ ‘Kilby Hearts Baseball’s Hottest Outfield.’ Thank you very much, we heart you too! ‘We make ’em hot in Kilby, Texas.’ That might be taking a little too much credit. None of them are from here.”

Aloha to Jenna Sutton and THE PERFECT FIT (Riley O'Brien & Co. Novella)

 

Zeke May has spent the past two years recovering from an IED attack and trying to adjust to life as a civilian. The veteran hiring program at denim empire Riley O’Brien & Co. offers a new beginning. The only problem is the high cost of housing in San Francisco, and Margo Lange could be the perfect solution.

Now that Margo has completed veterinary school, she’s ready to fulfill her dream of living in the Bay Area. Unfortunately, she’s drowning in student loan debt and the only places she can afford are dumps. Luckily, one of her uncle’s Army buddies needs a roommate.

Although Zeke’s place is a perfect fit for Margo’s budget, he is not what she expects. He’s much younger than her uncle, and he’s melt-your-panties hot. She doesn’t want to fall for him, but it doesn’t take her long to realize that Zeke is the perfect fit for her, regardless of their age gap. Too bad he’s so obviously still in love with his ex-wife…

Buy Links: Amazon | B & N | iTunes | Kobo

Jenna Sutton spent most of her career as an award-winning journalist covering business-related topics including healthcare, commercial real estate, retail, and technology. Nowadays she writes about hot, lovable guys and the smart, sexy women who make them crazy. It’s the culmination of a lifelong dream, and she feels so lucky to be able to do it.

Jenna has a Bachelor’s degree in Journalism from Texas Christian University and a Master’s degree in Integrated Marketing Communications from Northwestern University.

Jenna and her husband live in a 103-year-old house in Texas.

Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads

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Jenna offers an excerpt from THE PERFECT FIT ...

As Zeke stood in the elevator in the Four Seasons, he ran his hand over his hair, searching for any unruly strands. Satisfied that everything was in order, he adjusted the French cuffs of his bright white tuxedo shirt and furtively checked his fly to make sure it was zipped.

Never in his life had he showered, shaved, and dressed as quickly as he had tonight. He was surprised he’d only nicked himself once.

Even though he’d driven like a maniac to get to the hotel as fast as humanly possible, he was still forty-five minutes late. He hated being late, regardless of the circumstances. But his tardiness tonight was even more unacceptable because Margo had been counting on him.

Because of stupid softball game, she’d had to take a taxi in an evening gown. She was probably livid, and he couldn’t blame her.

Why hadn’t he just left the game early? Better yet, why hadn’t he declined Margo’s invitation to attend Pictures & Paws?

He should have. But he’d hated the thought of her going to this type of event alone. And, if he were honest with himself, he would admit that he’d wanted to go with her, even if it was a monumentally bad idea.

Being around her was torture. A couple of days ago, he’d accidently bumped into her in the kitchen, his front grazing her back. That small touch had created a big problem … behind his zipper.

Ever since that day when he had retrieved Margo’s panties from Roby’s paws, Zeke had tried—and failed—to push her back into the roommate-only zone. But those tiny panties had already done their damage.

Whenever they were together, he constantly thought about what she wore underneath her clothes. He even thought about it when they weren’t together.

His dormant libido had awakened, and now the damn thing was boiling like an active volcano. It could erupt at any time.

Zeke should be happy that his penis had returned to its normal operations. But he wasn’t. Instead, he was frustrated and edgy and hard all the fucking time.

He didn’t understand why this was happening now. And he sure as hell didn’t understand why it was happening with Margo.

It didn’t happen with anyone else.

Today, during the softball game, a pretty woman on the opposing team had run into him. The force of the impact had knocked them to the ground, with her sprawled on top.

She’d been a sweet-smelling, curvy armful. And his penis had been uninterested.

If it could talk, it would have said, I’m bored. But around Margo, it said, Mmm, I want some of that.

Of course, his dick didn’t care about the eleven-year age gap between them. And it didn’t care that she had her whole life ahead of her, while he had already lived a big portion of his.

Finally, the elevator reached the fifth floor. When he stepped out, he immediately began to look for Margo. No matter where they were, her bright hair made it easy to spot her.

After searching the area where the pictures were displayed and the ballroom where dinner would be served, he wandered onto the terrace. The huge space overlooked Yerba Buena Gardens, and the surrounding buildings provided plenty of light.

He surveyed the small group of people on the terrace. His gaze landed on a woman with vibrant reddish-gold hair. She was a little taller than Margo, and her hair was wavy instead of straight. Her back was to him, the flawless skin exposed by her form-fitting dress.

Damn, that dress is something else.

The dress’s lace overlay gave the impression that she was naked underneath. And the way it hugged her curvy hips and cupped her round ass … that should be prohibited in public venues to prevent riots.

Wait … he recognized that ass. He saw it—stared at it—every day.

The woman in the sexy dress was Margo. And the moment his dick realized that fact, it woke up from its nap and did a couple of stretches in preparation for vigorous exercise.

Zeke took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. For a brief moment, he thought about turning around, going back home, and locking himself in his bedroom until this insanity passed.

But then Margo glanced in his direction. And he knew, without a doubt, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Aloha to Beth Ciotta and MARRY POPPINS (An Impossible Dream Novel)

When fate bobbles your dream, sometimes you have to make your own magic…

Award-winning author Beth Ciotta presents Marry Poppins, the third book in the contemporary fairy tale series—Impossible Dream—celebrating hope, love, and the magic of the human spirit!

She wants a family. He needs a wife. A marriage-of-convenience solves a myriad of problems for unlucky Georgie Poppins and down-on-his-luck Bryce Morgan. Falling in love wasn’t part of the bargain so no one is more surprised than Georgie and Bryce when sexual sparks ignite a full-blown romance. Unfortunately, as love swells, trouble mounts, including a glitch at Impossible Dream.com—an Internet company designed to match people with their most avid desire. Maybe Georgie and Bryce weren’t meant to be after all.

Buy Links: Amazon | B & N | iTunes | Kobo

Beth Ciotta is an award-winning author who specializes in quirky romantic adventures. Dubbed “fun and sexy” by Publishers Weekly, her work includes contemporary, historical, and paranormal romantic fiction. Beth lives in New Jersey with her husband, two zany dogs, and a crazy cat.

A retired professional performer, Beth now pours her artistic passion into her writing. To learn more about her colorful life, visit her website at bethciotta.com.

Author Links : Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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Beth offers an excerpt from MARRY POPPINS ... 

Most of her waking moments didn’t seem real. Visiting places she never dreamed she’d see in person, alongside the man she once dreamed she’d marry. Not only that, they were rooming together and sleeping together—albeit platonically.

Aside from that one unexpected and amazingly perfect kiss, Bryce had kept his lips to himself. Georgie would have been disappointed except his attraction was evident. She felt it. She sizzled with it. Something was building. Something was going to happen between Georgina Lou Poppins and Bryce-The Bullet-Morgan. The anticipation was exhilarating. The ultimate foreplay—and the most he’d done was hold her hand while navigating crowds. Or palming the small of her back while guiding her through an entrance.

His touch had been warm and welcome. He made her feel safe and cared for, as if she were his to worry about. Every brush of his hand felt like a lover’s caress.

Maybe they weren’t destined for forever, but they were destined for at least once.

She didn’t want to jinx it. She didn’t want to cheapen it with girlish, gossipy exchanges with her friends. She didn’t want to rush it or force it—patience recommended—so she played it cool. No easy feat. Especially when they were first waking up or preparing for bed. Or basically anytime they were alone in the hotel suite—that king-sized, pillow-soft mattress screaming for action of the horizontal-mambo variety.

Sort of like now.

“Are you sure there wasn’t anything else you wanted to do tonight?” Bryce asked as he shrugged out of a suit jacket and draped it over the chair.

A loaded question, considering, yeah, she’d like to jump his bones. Georgie answered cautiously as she sat on the sofa and unbuckled her left strappy heel. “Not for anything, but these shoes weren’t made for walking.”

“No, they weren’t.”

Georgie glanced up and caught Bryce staring at her legs.

The sexually charged air crackled and Georgie had to bite her tongue as she fumbled with the buckle of her other—not exactly, but as close as she owned—FMPs.

Bryce had treated her to dinner and a show. A musical playing in Leicester Square, which was sort of like New York’s Times Square albeit it more quaint (according to Bryce, who’d been to New York City, unlike Georgie).

Even though Bryce had assured her not all people dressed up for the theater, Georgie couldn’t resist going all out. Fortunately, Angel had supplied her with two dresses suitable for finer entertainment. Georgie had settled on a simple black halter dress and strappy red heels. The same heels she’d worn to Bryce’s non-wedding. The difference was her non-wedding dress had skimmed her knees. This hemline stopped mid-thigh. So, yeah, her legs were on prime display.

Feigning innocence, she asked, “Anything wrong?”

“I should go.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. I need to walk this off.”

It was all she could do to stay seated, to feign calm. He looked gorgeous and miserable and she wanted to tackle him to the floor. “Walk what off?”

Bryce palmed the back of his neck and rubbed. He blew out a breath. A tense breath. A really tense breath.

Georgie practiced extraordinary patience.

“That dress. Those shoes. You. The past few days.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers, studied the toes of his boots.

Georgie waited.

“You look hot, dammit.”

Her pulse kicked. If only he didn’t sound so disappointed. “Thank you. I think.”

“I can’t be here. This—and don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about—can’t happen.”

Heart pounding, Georgie took a leap of faith. Enough patience. Time to initiate derring-do. She rose to her bare feet and closed the distance between them. “Okay. No pretending. Let’s face this head on.” She inched closer, pressing her body to his, acknowledging his oh-so-noticeable package. “Why can’t this happen?”

He remained frozen, staring down at her in stoic silence.

“Because I’m Ryan’s sister?” she prodded. “Because you’re on the rebound? Because you don’t love me and you don’t want to complicate matters with meaningless sex? Because you’re conflicted about the twins and your future and you need me to be there for them and for Arlo so you can honor your charity commitments and pursue whatever?”

She rattled off everything she could think of because there wasn’t one forthcoming bone in Bryce’s infuriatingly hunky body. The man guarded his innermost thoughts as if they were a flipping national secret.

He worked his jaw. “Yes.”

“To what?”

“To everything.”

She wanted to punch him—the big stubborn, noble, ex-jock. “What if I told you meaningless sex is all I’m interested in? What if I told you I have no intention of bailing on your nanny job—no matter if this happens or not—because that job is the only thing keeping me afloat until my dream job comes through. Which—in case I didn’t mention it before—should be soon.”

If she said it often enough, maybe it would happen. Maybe she’d get that golden email from Impossible Dream alerting her of a wondrous opportunity. As it was, the only notices she’d been getting were from bill collectors.

Jerking her thoughts back to pleasant ground, Georgie dug in. “Here’s the thing. Ignoring this attraction won’t make it go away, Bryce. Addressing it might. If it helps,” she lied, “I meant what I said that day at Grace Chapel. This isn’t a matter of the heart. This is purely physical.”

And that was about all she could muster in the derring-do department without sacrificing her pride.

Bryce closed his eyes and cursed.

When he reached for his jacket, Georgie turned her back. He was leaving. Fine. “Go for your walk. Forget I said anything,” she said while fumbling with the zipper at the back of her dress. “I’ll be in bed by the time you get back, sleeping this off.”

She heard the door open…

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry.

…and shut.

“Dammit,” she swore when the zipper wouldn’t budge and her temper overflowed.

“Screw it.” Bryce cupped her shoulders and turned her in his arms.

Aloha to Stephanie Evanovich and THE TOTAL PACKAGE

 

Smart and sexy Dani Carr knows as much about football as any man--maybe more. It’s always been her dream to make a living talking about the game she loves. But Dani’s not interested in being just the usual eye-candy sideline reporter; she wants to be the first woman analyst on a pre-game show, the ultimate in exclusive boys-club jobs. And it turns out, that despite the odds, she has the talent to get her there.

Star quarterback-and heartthrob--Tyson Palmer always did things in spectacular fashion, including ruining his career after debuting as a first-round draft pick. When the head coach of the Austin Mavericks refuses to let him waste his million dollar arm, Tyson makes a Hail Mary pass at redemption and succeeds with everyone…except Dani, who appears to be using her high-profile commentator job to make a name for herself at his expense.

Dani can’t forgive Tyson’s transgressions or forget the sizzling history the two of them shared in college, a passionate love Tyson casually threw away. And even more infuriating, he doesn’t realize that the bombshell with huge ratings is the cute girl whose heart he once broke.

But can a woman trying to claw her way to the top and a quarterback who knows all about rock bottom make it to the Super Bowl without destroying each other? And what will happen when Tyson—riding high now that he’s revived his career—realizes he needs to make an even more important comeback with Dani? Can he make some spectacular moves to get past her defenses—or will she sideline him for good? 

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New York Times Bestselling Author, Stephanie Evanovich is a full-fledged Jersey girl from Asbury Park who began writing fiction while waiting for her cues during countless community theater projects. She attended New York’s School of Film and Television and acted in several improvisational troupes and a few small-budget movies, all in preparation for the greatest job she ever had, raising her two sons. Now a full-time writer, she’s an avid sports fan who holds a black belt in tae kwon do.

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Stephanie offers an excerpt from THE TOTAL PACKAGE ... 

Within the last three years, the adjectives attached to Tyson Palmer’s name slowly morphed into overrated, reprehensible. A real waste. Wanting to stay in his father’s good graces, Tyson had often joined him in his downhill slide. Douglas Palmer proved a bad example. Tyson took responsibility for his mother’s heartbreak, stuffed all the hurt and pain deep down inside, and set the sequence on his time bomb to self-destruct.

Coming back here was supposed to be a kind of victory lap. But Tyson wasn’t being followed by throngs of alumni or asked to attend any ceremonies, not even the ones taking place on the football field. He wasn’t invited to any parties. Instead Tyson had been forced to retreat to the Bunker, where he was pointed at from a safe distance, like an animal in a zoo. Occasionally someone would approach him, politely engage him for a few moments, mostly about the weather, and be on their way. Nothing to see here—the phrase cops always used to move spectators along from a crime scene. His teammates and Blitz management had tried to be supportive . . . in the beginning. But it wasn’t long before Tyson’s shenanigans robbed him of his ability to lead, and they all had grown weary of him, even before he started racking up more interceptions than touchdowns on game day. He knew that within the next twenty-four hours his dirty drug test results would leave him jobless and probably tossed out of the league. The book they were getting ready to throw at him was heavy. I sure won’t miss those cold Massachusetts winters, he thought to console himself.

“Tyson?”

Bloodshot eyes focused on a face that was vaguely familiar. It was a wisp of a ghost brushing by him. Someone insignificant, but at the same time, not—pretty, but low maintenance. Dark hair, hazel eyes with a glint of determination magnified through the lenses of her glasses. When he’d seen her last, she had something he needed. And something he’d wanted.

“Helen?” he tried to zero in. They had spent quality time together, at least for a while. He hadn’t seen her naked, but it probably wasn’t from lack of trying. Those whose pants he didn’t get into were much more likely to stand out. “Ellen?”

“Ella,” she said hopefully. “I was your English tutor, in your senior year?”

Now he remembered. A flash that was stark and vivid, from the predrug days, before those first few injuries that weren’t so quick to heal. She had been one of several students handpicked by the administration when he fell short on his classes during football season. Hired for several hours a week to basically cram the exams into his skull and dictate his essays to him. He wasn’t stupid, but he also didn’t make it easy. Back then he thought about nothing but football and was easily distracted when it came to anything else. “Right.” He smiled at her, feeling the warm nostalgic wave. Her last name was something Italian.“Ella Bella.”

He had made up the cheesy nickname for her on a rainy afternoon four weeks into that semester, after they abandoned meeting at the library in favor of his dorm room. When he decided he would rather make out than recite the answers to an upcoming test. She was appealing enough, fresh faced and makeup free, a sophomore who had held on to her freshman fifteen. Not girlfriend material, but he wasn’t looking for a girlfriend.

And after one delicious kiss, Ella Bella had shot him down. Not in cold blood, of course; she’d stammered through the willing-to-date-him speech, but he’d never asked her for a date, and casual sex was off the table. She told him that she was still a virgin and she planned on staying that way. Something about a virgin never failed to make a horny guy hum. Tyson jokingly asked her to bang him every time they were together after that, but he was hardly brokenhearted when she laughed him off. There was always someone else on the sidelines. It was more his way of telling her he was available if she ever wanted to change her mind. He began to view her more like a little sister, especially since she could talk football better than any other girl he knew at school, even better than some of his teammates.

“You remember?” She smiled back at him, and then giggled. He still had it. And clearly she knew nothing of what was happening in his world. These days he was on almost every woman’s shit list.

Aloha to Rebecca Zanetti and MERCURY STRIKING (The Scorpius Syndrome No. 1)

 

With nothing but rumors to lead her, Lynn Harmony has trekked across a nightmare landscape to find one man—a mysterious, damaged legend who protects the weak and leads the strong. He’s more than muscle and firepower—and in post-plague L.A., he’s her only hope. As the one woman who could cure the disease, Lynn is the single most volatile—and vulnerable—creature in this new and ruthless world. But face to face with Jax Mercury…

Danger has never looked quite so delicious…

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USA Today Bestselling author Rebecca Zanetti has worked as an art curator, Senate aide, lawyer, college professor, and a hearing examiner - only to culminate it all in stories about Alpha males and the women who claim them. She writes contemporary romances, dark paranormal romances, and romantic suspense novels.

Growing up amid the glorious backdrops and winter wonderlands of the Pacific Northwest has given Rebecca fantastic scenery and adventures to weave into her stories. She resides in the wild north with her husband, children, and extended family who inspire her every day—or at the very least give her plenty of characters to write about.

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Rebecca offers an excerpt from MERCURY STRIKING ...

What had she done? Lynne had actually fallen asleep on Jax Mercury. She awoke, blinking inside the stifling hood, just as he lifted her into the cool morning air and easily strode over uneven ground. A slight change of temperature hit her, and his steps leveled out.

Inside. They were inside somewhere. The smell of dust and burned tomato soup tickled her nose, but no sound provided a clue as to their whereabouts. All but blinded, she tried to tune in to her other senses. Jax’s boots clomped heavily across a hard surface, and his heart beat steadily against her shoulder.

His stride didn’t hitch as he climbed stairs, turned, walked in a too-quiet area, and opened a door. The world tilted, and he placed her, gently actually, on what felt like a fake leather sofa.

He yanked the hood off.

Light from halogen lamps assaulted her wide pupils, and she winced, her eyes tearing. “You’re an ass.”

Silver flashed, and he cut the zip ties. “So it has been said.”

Heat climbed into her face. The man had carried her easily and didn’t seem winded a bit. Even so, the legends whispered around campfires and refugee camps across the country had to be exaggerated. Nobody was that tough. “We need to talk,” she gritted out.

He yanked a kitchen chair toward her, turned it, and straddled it. Now, in the light, she was struck by how young he really was. Maybe mid-thirties, black hair, dark brown eyes, and rugged facial features. Handsome in a pissed-off kind of way. A scar cut under the left side of his jaw, white and deadly. “So, talk.”

She swallowed and tugged her backpack to her chest, glancing around what appeared to be a small apartment. A kitchenette took up one wall, an unmade bed the other, with dented furniture in between. Sofa, metal coffee table, woodlaminate kitchen table, paint peeling pink kids’ dresser, and mismatched kitchen chairs. Maps covered the table, spread out haphazardly. “Where am I?”

“You don’t get to know that.” He rested his arms on the top of the chair, muscles flexing.

She bit her lip. Men’s clothing littered the unmade bed, and the smell of musk and male filled the atmosphere. “Whose place am I in?”

“Mine.” He lifted a shoulder, his gaze unwavering. “And yours now, I guess.”

She pushed back into the torn pleather. “I’m not, I mean, I—”

One dark eyebrow rose. “You’re here because I’m keeping an eye on you and making sure you don’t infect anybody else.”

“I won’t infect anybody else,” she said slowly, her nails digging into the couch until the pads of her fingertips protested. “We don’t really know the truth about that statement, now do we? You’re the ultimate carrier of the most dangerous plague to ever attack mankind.” He lowered his chin, the movement somehow menacing. “You’re also here so I can make sure you’re not ready to check out.”

She rolled her eyes. “If I’d wanted to kill myself, I wouldn’t have traveled this far to do it.”

“Fair enough.”

She glanced at the unmade bed. Too many women had become victims as the world had disintegrated; the strong overcame the weak. She wasn’t weak, and she was no man’s plaything. “I’m not here for your amusement.”

“I’m not amused.” He leaned toward her, and her breath caught in her throat. “Let me be perfectly clear. I don’t force myself on women, and neither do any of my men. Any people here, and anyone we come across, remain safe from personal attack. Rape is a crime dealt with by death, so you have no need to fear.”

She’d heard that in the rumors and tales, but she hadn’t known it to be true. “Women don’t earn their keep, earn their protection, with sex here?” Wherever here was.

“No.”

“You were in an inner-city L.A. gang. Years ago.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Rape was against the rules?”

His face blanked. “No, but I’ve never forced a woman.” Those dark eyes narrowed. “My past is my own. You sure know a lot about me.”

Not really. He’d become a folk legend fighting in L.A. before the news had shut down. Since then she’d been trying to gather facts, but there were still blanks. “Why did you leave the gang? I’ve never heard why you entered the army.”

He rubbed his chin. “Judge gave me a choice. Prison or military. I guess he saw something in me.”

She let her shoulders relax. “I wondered.”

“Yeah.” Jax eyed her shirt just at her neck. “Can I see again?”

Well, she couldn’t really blame him. She set aside the pack holding her father’s precious journal. Her fingers remained steady this time as she unbuttoned the blouse and drew open the sides.

Jax’s nostrils flared, while a tension, one she barely remembered as sexual, overtook the atmosphere. “Does it hurt?”

“The blueness?” She glanced down, her lungs suddenly

too tight “No. I don’t feel anything.”

He reached out and gently took her wrist, shoving the sleeve up to reveal the track marks on her elbow. “This must hurt.”

His touch stirred awareness deep in her abdomen, and surprise paused her at the feeling. When was the last time she’d felt desire? Or even warmth from another’s touch? She glanced down at the scars caused by drawing so much blood. So many times, and outside of normal medical procedures after a while. “Yes. That hurts.”

“I knew a junkie once with an arm like this.” Jax shook his head and unrolled her sleeve. “The irrationality of a thing is not an argument against its existence, rather, a condition of it,” he murmured, securing the buttons at her wrist. She frowned as the familiar words rolled around her head. “Einstein?”

“Nietzsche.” Jax lifted an eyebrow. “Rumor has it you’re carrying an advanced form of Scorpius. True or false?” “False rumor to isolate me.” She tried to keep her tired eyes open.

Jax gestured toward her pack. “I get the food and water you have, but what’s in the journal?”

She sighed. “Sorry, but there’s nothing about Scorpius. My dad was a physicist and a philosopher. He wrote a lot down.”

Jax blinked. “That’s quite the combination.”

“Yes.” The words on paper were all she had left of her parents.

Jax studied her and then looked toward the gas lamp on the counter. “We have lanterns left, but not for long unless we get more fuel. So keep an eye on the lamp but extinguish it if you go to sleep.”

“I understand.” The guy was quoting Nietzsche? What kind of an ex-gang member turned army special ops turned leader of a vigilante group knew philosophy? She shook her head. Time to negotiate. “I’m here for a reason.” “I’m sure.” He eyed her blue heart again. “You can cover up.”

She fumbled in refastening her shirt. “I’ll teach you everything I know about the illness, and you provide temporary protection and one kill.” The mere idea she was contracting a murder banished the desire humming inside her and replaced the heat with a lump of cold rock.

A veil fell over Jax’s eyes. “What makes you think we don’t know everything you do about the illness?”

She shrugged, wondering if he knew what kind of information he might have stored away just from his ransacking labs. “The Internet went down fast, much faster than anyone would’ve thought, and the news and television thereafter. No way do you know what I know.”

He watched her patiently, as if waiting to strike. “The Internet went down because of a guy named Spiral.”

She blinked. Wow. So Jax Mercury had some seriously good intel. “True. He was infected with the illness and then reacted by creating a world-class computer virus. Figured if bodies died, so should technology, since it got us in this fix in the first place.” Her instincts hummed. Underestimating Mercury would be a colossal mistake. Suddenly, and for the first time in way too long, hope struggled to unfurl within her. “I still know more about the illness than you do.”

“Probably.” He studied her for a few moments longer before cocking his head to the side. “What else?”

She cleared her throat. “I assume you’ve scavenged the area you control?”

His chin lifted. “So?”

She swallowed, her body stilling. “Did you scavenge the emergency CDC outpost on the southeast side of L.A.?” Her blood pumped so fast she could feel a vein in her neck bulging.

“Yes. Why?” he asked softly.

The softness contained a deadly intent that rippled a shiver down her spine. Her fingers fidgeted. “They had the most recent research, and combined with mine, we might have hope.” They also had intel on where Myriad, the ultrasecret lab, might be located.

He studied her. “We raided the CDC outpost and took all medical supplies and paper records. Our limited medical personnel went through the files looking for cures, but I have to be honest, none of them are researchers with your background.”

Lynne leaned forward. “I’m happy to go through all the information and decipher it for you.” Oh God. Maybe the risk of heading into Mercury’s territory would actually pay off . . . if she could find Myriad. “Could I look through the data?”

He leaned back and studied her. “Sure. Are you telling me there may be a cure?”

Full-color image of from MESSENGER flyby
Public Domain (link)

Aloha to Eloisa James and MY AMERICAN DUCHESS

 

MY AMERICAN DUCHESS is coming on January 26 from Avon Romance:

The arrogant Duke of Trent intends to marry a well-bred Englishwoman. The last woman he would ever consider marrying is the adventuresome Merry Pelford— an American heiress who has infamously jilted two fiancés.

But after one provocative encounter with the captivating Merry, Trent desires her more than any woman he has ever met. He is determined to have her as his wife, no matter what it takes. And Trent is a man who always gets what he wants.

The problem is, Merry is already betrothed, and the former runaway bride has vowed to make it all the way to the altar. As honor clashes with irresistible passion, Trent realizes the stakes are higher than anyone could have imagined. In his battle to save Merry and win her heart, one thing becomes clear:

All is fair in love and war.

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A New York Times bestselling author, Eloisa James is a professor of English literature who lives with her family in New York, but who can sometimes be found in Paris or Italy. (Her husband is an honest to goodness Italian knight!) Eloisa’s website offers short stories, extra chapters, and even a guide to shopping in Florence. Visit her at eloisajames.com.

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Eloisa offers an excerpt from MY AMERICAN DUCHESS ...

Chapter One

April 6, 1803

Lady Portmeadow’s ball in honor of the East End Charity Hospital

15 Golden Square

At 9 pm sharp, Lord Cedric Allardyce gracefully fell to his knees, signaling his intent to request Miss Merry Pelford’s hand in marriage.

Merry stared down at his buttery curls, scarcely believing this was actually happening to her. She had to force back a nervous giggle when Cedric complemented her finger for its slenderness before slipping on a diamond ring.

It felt as if she were on a stage, playing a role meant for a delicate, feminine Englishwoman. That actress hadn’t shown up, and storklike Merry Pelford had taken her place.

But at 9:02, after Cedric’s lyrical proposal drew to a close, she forced back a nervous qualm and agreed to become his bride.

Back in the ballroom, Merry’s guardian, her aunt Bess, didn’t seem to realize that Cedric and Merry were mismatched. “The two of you are exquisitely suited, like night and day,” she said, eyeing Cedric’s yellow hair. “No, midnight and the dawn. That’s not bad; I’ll have to write it down.”

“My aunt is a poet,” Merry told Cedric.

Before Bess could prove her credentials by tossing out a line or two, her uncle Thaddeus—who was bluntly unsympathetic to rhymes of any kind—dragged Cedric off to the card room. Merry instantly pulled off her glove and revealed her diamond ring.

“Cedric is friends with the Prince of Wales,” she whispered.

Bess raised an eyebrow. “It’s always helpful to be acquainted with those in power, though I can’t say I view the man as a desirable acquaintance on his own merits.”

Merry’s aunt had grown up in that cradle of American high society known as Beacon Hill; her father was a Cabot and her mother a Saltonstall. Her staunch belief that she represented the pinnacle of society had remained unshaken in the presence of the most haughty noblemen.

“I am looking forward to meeting His Highness,” Merry said stoutly. She was marrying an Englishman, and that meant she had to adapt English ideas.

“The only prince I’ve met to this date is that Russian who courted your cousin Kate,” Bess said. “There’s nothing worse than a man who bows too much. He popped up and down like a jack-in-the-box; it gave me a headache just to look at him.”

“Prince Evgeny,” Merry said, nodding. “He was always wearing white gloves.”

“White gloves on a man have their time and place. But what with the gloves and the bowing, he was like a rabbit, one of those that flashes its tail before it runs off.”

Aunt Bess certainly had a lively gift for metaphor.

Buonconsiglio Castle in Trento (Trent) Italy
Image by Paolo Villa (link)