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Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Pocket Star. Sort by date Show all posts

Monday, March 23, 2015

Blog Tour - Cowboy Heaven by Cheryl Brooks | Spreading the Word & Novel Giveaways

Today I'm turning my blog over to Cheryl Brooks author of "Cowboy Heaven," which happens to be the FIRST BOOK in her Cowboy Heaven Series!!

ALSO -- Be sure to check out Rafflecopter at the bottom of this post to be able to sign up for this blog stop's GIVEAWAY!! [Blog Tour & Giveaway will from March 23 - April 6, 2015]




"Cowboy Heaven"
[Cowboy Heaven Series, Book 1] by Cheryl Brooks

Author's Book Description :
    When you find yourself in cowboy heaven...

    When lonely widow Angela McClure hires a gorgeous hitchhiking cowboy with an affair in mind, she knows they’ll have to be discreet: her old-fashioned father and the stern ranch foreman adamantly discourage any interaction between her and the ranch hands.

    Things can get hot as hell...

    Despite their attempts at secrecy, the heat between them is undeniable. To divert suspicion, Angela forms a new plan: she’ll flirt with all of the ranch hands. Suddenly Angela has a whole stable full of sexy-as-sin cowboys to play with, but only one can win her heart.

Book Series Links :

Amazon (e-Book) | Amazon (Paperback) | Barnes and Noble (Paperback & e-Book) | Alibris (Paperback) | Kobo (e-Book) | Books-A-Million (Paperback) | !ndigo (Paperback) | IndieBound (Paperback)

** Be sure to add it to your TBR pile on Goodreads! **



About the Author :

Cheryl Brooks is a former critical care nurse turned romance writer. Her Cat Star Chronicles series includes "Slave," "Warrior," "Rogue," "Outcast," "Fugitive," "Hero," "Virgin," "Stud," "Wildcat," and the newest release, "Rebel." She is a member of the RWA and IRWA and lives with her husband and sons near Bloomfield, Indiana.

My Previous Review(s) for this Author : Slave | Outcast | Stud | Virgin | Wildcat | Rebel

My Previous Mention(s) of this Author's Books/Characters : End of the year 2010 Update | "Waiting On" Wednesday: Stud | Liebster Blog Award - 2013 | Best Book Couples -- Happy Valentine's Day 2013 | Teaser Tuesdays: Wildcat | The Books I'm Thankful For (so far) in 2013 | Best Book Couples -- Happy Valentine's Day 2014 | Best Book Couples -- Happy Valentine's Day 2015



Book Excerpt -- Chapter 1 :

There he was again. That same cowboy I’d seen on the drive into town, still walking, still carrying a big green duffel bag on one shoulder and a saddle slung over the other. He’d been traveling in the opposite direction and hadn’t bothered to look up as I’d passed him earlier. I’d barely glimpsed his face then, but I saw it quite clearly now. A glance over his shoulder revealed his bleak, exhausted expression. He might have been near the point of collapse, but he obviously wasn’t prepared to admit defeat.

Not yet, anyway.

I couldn’t believe no one had picked him up in the three hours since I’d last seen him. He hadn’t looked very fresh even then. I had no idea where he was headed, but in the middle of Wyoming, there wasn’t much within walking distance, no matter where you were going.

He turned toward me, sticking out a halfhearted thumb as I came closer, his face streaked with dirt and sweat and what might have been tears. A black Stetson shadowed his eyes, and his boots and jeans were dusty and worn. His sweat-soaked denim shirt clung to his chest, unbuttoned halfway to his waist, the sleeves ripped out. He probably wasn’t trying to look cool, even though he did. No, he was likely trying to get cool, in any way he possibly could. My truck was air-conditioned and comfortable, and there was plenty of room for him and his meager belongings. I could no more have left him there than I could have ignored a starving child.

As I pulled over to stop, his eyes closed and his lips moved as though uttering a prayer of thanks. His knees buckled slightly, and for a moment, I thought he truly would collapse. Instead, he took a deep breath and stood up straight. Lifting his chin, he aimed luminous blue eyes at me and flashed a dazzling smile. His silver belt buckle suggested this man was no ordinary ranch hand but a down-on-his-luck rodeo cowboy who, unless I missed my guess, was heading for Jackson Hole.

A real heartbreaker of a rodeo cowboy, too. Up close, he was even more handsome than he’d been from a distance. Long and lean with tanned, muscular arms, dimples creased his cheeks and black hair curled enticingly from the open edges of his shirt. Several days’ growth of dark beard surrounded full, sensuous lips, darkening a jaw that my fingertips ached to caress. More ebony curls peeked from beneath his hat, making me long to yank off that Stetson to discover what else it was hiding. Oh yes, there was enough gorgeous cowboy to sway a much stronger woman than I ever claimed to be. Tears stung my eyes as something in his expression reminded me of Cody.

My dear, sweet Cody… He’d been gone for two years now, but I hadn’t forgotten that look, and I doubted I ever would.

Determined to mask my roiling emotions, I searched for something amusing to say as I rolled down my window. “Lost your horse?”

My clever tongue was rewarded with another heart-stopping smile. Cody used to say funny things just to make me giggle—which wasn’t difficult since I tend to find humor in nearly any situation—but brushing up on my own repertoire of one-liners to keep this guy smiling seemed like an excellent idea.

His grin was sheepish as he tipped up the brim of his hat. “He sort of drove off without me.”

“Drove off?” I scoffed. “Somehow I doubt that. Seems like he would’ve needed help.”

My handsome cowboy gave me a grim nod. “Oh, he had help all right. My girlfriend dumped me on the highway and took off with the truck, the trailer, and the horse—all of which were actually hers, by the way. She was kind enough to leave me my saddle and my clothes, although a cell phone would’ve been nice.”

I shook my head. “Nice, yes. Helpful, no. They don’t work very well around here. Which kinda makes me mad—I mean, where would you need a phone more than if you were stranded out in the middle of nowhere?”

He glanced around at the vast expanse of sunbaked rangeland. “Is that the name of this place? Nowhere?”

“Sure is.” I couldn’t help giggling. “Want to get out of nowhere?”

“Yes, please,” he replied. “And as quickly as possible.”

“Throw your stuff in the back and hop in,” I said. “We’ll leave nowhere and go…somewhere.”

He did as I suggested, and suddenly the interior of my truck was filled with the pungent aroma of hot, sweaty, dusty—but cologned—cowboy. He’d most likely showered that morning, but it had been one helluva day. The forecast called for the upper nineties—quite a heat wave even for mid-August—and though the humidity was low, some temperatures are best avoided no matter how dry the air.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he said. “I thought that sun was gonna roast me alive.”

“As hot as it gets in these parts, I never go anywhere without water, enough food for a couple of meals, and an umbrella in case I’m ever forced to hike. Want a sandwich?”

“You bet.”

I tossed a nod over my shoulder. “The cooler’s on the backseat. Help yourself. There’s plenty of water.” Although, at that point, a cold beer probably would have been his first choice.

He pulled out two bottles of water and a sandwich, downing the first bottle in three swallows.

“Better now?”

“Much.”

“Let’s see now…” I said as he unwrapped the sandwich. “A cowboy dumped in the middle of nowhere with a saddle and no horse. There’s got to be a country song in that.”

“If you mean a song about a guy bein’ picked up by a girl in a flatbed Ford, I think the Eagles already did that one.”

“I love that song,” I said wistfully. “Guess I always wanted to be that girl.”

“Well, now you are.” He took a bite of the sandwich, chewing it quickly. “How does it feel?”

“Not much different.” This wasn’t entirely true. I wasn’t in the habit of picking up gorgeous cowboys—and this particular cowboy’s presence had me feeling strangely excited. Oh yes, I was very aware of him, and if my brain hadn’t noticed him, my erogenous zones were there to remind me. “For one thing, this isn’t a flatbed Ford, and I’m not what anyone would call a girl anymore.”

He paused in mid-bite. “Why? Have you had a sex-change operation?”

“Nope,” I replied with another giggle. “You can’t call a forty-two-year-old a girl. Well, maybe you could if you happened to be eighty-two yourself, but I’m pretty sure I outgrew the girl category a long time ago—about the time that song was popular.”

Despite the fact that I never once took my eyes off the road, I was aware of his prolonged scrutiny—an assessing gaze that left delightful tingles in its wake.

“Some things improve with age.” He turned toward the window. “You don’t seem like the type to dump a guy in the middle of nowhere.”

Having heard the catch in his voice, I did my best to keep my tone light. Bursting into tears in front of a perfect stranger probably wasn’t on his bucket list. “True—unless he was really obnoxious.”

This particular cowboy would have to have been homicidal or, at the very least, abusive for me to throw him out. He was the most adorable cowboy I’d ever laid eyes on, including the one I’d married.

“I wasn’t being obnoxious.” He fairly bristled with indignation, which seemed to have won out over heartbreak. “I was asleep. I thought she was stopping for gas when I felt the truck slow down. She asked me to take a look at the tires on the trailer, said she thought one had gone flat. While I was checking the tires, she dumped my saddle and duffel bag on the side of the road and drove off. I found this tucked into the saddle.” Reaching into his shirt pocket, he handed me a torn, sweat-soaked scrap of paper.

It’s not working out. Sorry.

“Ouch,” I said with a sympathetic wince. “That’s pretty hard.”

“Yeah.” With an absent nod, he stuffed the note back into his pocket. “I don’t even know what I did wrong. Don’t guess I ever will.”

He seemed nice enough, and he certainly wasn’t ugly. Maybe his girl had breakup issues. As irresistible as he was, I couldn’t imagine breaking his heart while gazing into those eyes of his, and I didn’t even know his name.

She’d probably gone about it the best way possible—a quick, clean break before losing her nerve completely. One glance, one smile, and she’d have forgotten why their relationship wasn’t working. I wasn’t looking forward to dropping him off at the crossroad to the ranch, myself. I had a sudden, overwhelming urge to take him home and wash him, feed him, and tuck him into bed—my bed, to be precise.

I had my doubts about that part. He couldn’t have been more than thirty, and young men generally didn’t seek solace from older women—not that kind of solace, anyway. Consoling him seemed impossible, so I changed the subject.

“Where were you headed?”

“The rodeo in Jackson Hole,” he replied. “I’m a rodeo cowboy.”

“No shit,” I drawled. “I’d never have guessed that. I don’t suppose your girl left you with any money, did she? I mean, I’m not going to charge you for the ride or the lunch, but I’m not going all the way to Jackson Hole, either.”

“I didn’t figure you were.” His downcast expression suggested his hope that he’d been wrong about that. “But at the time, I didn’t really care.”

“Neither did I. I wouldn’t have left you there no matter where you were going. It was…well, let’s just say it was something I couldn’t bring myself to do.”

“Pick up lots of strays, do you?” Turning sideways, he leaned back against the door, a move that not only drew my eye, but also gave me a full-frontal view that made my breath catch in my throat. Oh yes, I’d taken in lots of strays, but none that were anywhere near as attractive.

I shook my head. “Actually picking them up usually isn’t necessary. They all seem to know where I live.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, where do you live? I mean, are we close?”

Obviously, he hoped I lived somewhere near Jackson Hole. I hated to disappoint him. “It’s about another twenty miles—most of which are not on the main highway. I’ll let you out at the turnoff, if that’s okay with you.”

His face fell, but he nodded, apparently resigned to the fact that this ride wasn’t going to be more than a brief respite. “Not much choice, is there?” He gave a fatalistic shrug. “I don’t have enough money on me to pay you to take me to Jackson Hole. I really should pay you for what you’ve already done.”

I caught myself wishing that he did have enough money—or that he would ask me to run off with him and follow the rodeo circuit, never going home at all. I would have loved to throw caution to the wind and do just that, but I had too many responsibilities. Not only did I have a ranch to run, but I also had my father and my kids to look after.

No, scratch that. Chris and Will were both in college. I had a hard time remembering that except when confronted with the sight of their empty rooms as I passed by them every day. Out on the highway I could pretend they were both there at home waiting for me—and Cody, too.

No, regardless of how much money this man might offer to pay me, I couldn’t shirk my duties and simply up and disappear. Nor would I accept his money. He obviously needed to hold on to what little he had stashed in those jeans.

“I couldn’t possibly take money from you,” I protested. “I wouldn’t be much of a Good Samaritan if I did, would I?”

“I suppose not.”

He shrugged again and we drove on in silence. Remaining slouched against the door, he draped his left arm across the headrest and bent up one knee, stretching his legs apart enough that my eyes were continually landing on that section of blue jeans due south of that big, silver belt buckle. From time to time he shifted his hips as though my glances made him uncomfortable, and while I did try to keep my eyes on the road, every once in a while they would stray back to him—and that enticing bulge in his jeans…

“What would it take to get you to drive me all the way to Jackson Hole?” The hint of suggestion in his voice startled me almost as much as the abrupt nature of his query.

Suddenly, my mouth was as dry as a gulch. Reaching for my bottle of water, I took a sip and stole another peek at him. Those luminous eyes peered at me from beneath lids that were heavy with sensuous intent.

His lips curled into a provocative smile. “I’d be willing to bet there’s something I could do for you that would pay you back—or at least make it worth your while.”



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Tuesday, May 23, 2017

#99Cents #BookSale for Fall With Me by Jayne Frost | Spreading the Word


"FALL WITH ME" brings readers more of the sultry hot rockers that you love from Jayne Frost's Sixth Street Bands Series, along with a healthy dose of steamy romance with some laughs on the side. Also, don’t forget to check out the cover art by none other than Judi Perkins at Concierge Literary Designs.



As the bassist for the band Caged, the last three years have been one, long non-stop party. Sure, I’ve had some regrets. Everyone does. But getting trapped in a relationship isn’t one of them. I know good and well what happens when the attraction fades. I’ve seen it first hand. Love is a zero sum game, so why play? As long as I'm upfront about my feelings, no one gets hurt. Besides, I'm never in one place long enough to worry about tomorrow.

That is, until the band decided to take an extended hiatus in our hometown. That’s when I met Melody Sullivan. She’s the full-package. Whip smart and beautiful, with enough determination to take on anything life has in store. And the best part? Melody shares my philosophy on the fleeting nature of attraction. She doesn’t buy into the whole “happily ever after” crap anymore than I do. We’re perfect for each other. For now. And now is all I want.

With the expectations off the table, I can let my guard down and enjoy her company until the spark dies. And we both know it will. In a week, or a month. But until then, we’ll just keep having fun. The good kind, with lots of sex and no strings attached. And when it’s time to move on, we will. No drawn out goodbyes and no remorse.

That’s the plan, at least.



- ON SALE FOR 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME -


- NOW AVAILABLE IN AUDIBLE TOO -




Chapter 2


The tension knots in my neck disappeared the minute I set foot inside the UT Life Science building. The ceilings in the alcove, inlayed with rich, dark wood, gleamed in the autumn sunlight filtering through the high windows as I walked toward the marble arch leading to the Life Science Library. Gold letters encased in black granite marked my destination.


Passing through the glass doors, my boots squeaked on the polished stone floors as I made my way to the physics section.


When I rounded the corner, I found Mrs. Thatcher replenishing the stacks with books she picked out of a grey bin.


She slid a thick text onto the shelf, then glanced at me and smiled. “Good afternoon, Christian. That book you wanted finally came in.”


My ears perked up as I gave her an index card containing my current wish list. “Really?”


She tucked the card in her pocket and then pried a copy of Was Einstein Right? Putting General Relativity to the Test, from the cubby.


“Popular book.” She handed me the text, then turned on her heel, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll see if we have any of the others in the system.”


“Thanks,” I mumbled, running my finger over the worn cover.


I’d read this book many times, but never an edition this old. Cracking open the spine, hand written notes adorned the margins, some dating back years from the looks of it.


Exiting the stacks, I headed toward the rows of uncomfortable wooden chairs. I wasn’t complaining, though. Given the amount of time I spent in libraries growing up, it wasn’t a good day unless one of my legs was numb or my back was screaming for mercy.


Settling into my usual spot at a table in the back, I reached for my phone to bring up my secret playlist of classical music.


My father, the mathematician, insisted rock and roll wasn’t conducive to concentration. It was one of the few things we agreed on. Though I never let him know it.


As I slipped in my ear buds, I noticed a girl two tables away juggling an armful of books and supplies. Losing the battle, the texts slipped from her grasp, crashing to the concrete floor.


“Shit,” she muttered.


Dropping to her knees, she tucked a swath of blond hair behind her ear before crawling under the table to retrieve a couple of wayward pencils.


One glimpse of her on all fours, her luscious ass in the air, and I jumped out of my seat.


The scent of cinnamon and autumn leaves assaulted me as I knelt to help her collect the papers littering the floor.


“Here you go,” I said, handing over the messy pile.


Wobbling to her feet, she smiled down at me, her blond hair curtaining her face. “Thanks. I’m all thumbs today.”


Spying a cherry lip balm wedged against the chair leg, I plucked the tube from its hiding place and then rose to my feet.


“Cherry, huh?” The smile froze on my lips when I caught sight of her unusual jade green eyes. Silver lined the pupils, luminous under the fluorescent lights.


Trying to place her, I started at her blond hair, working my way down.


Pausing the descent when I reached her perfect tits, my gaze darted to hers. “Mel, right?”


Her plump lips fell into a frown as she snatched the lip balm from my hand.


“Melody,” she bit out. “My friends call me Mel. And we’re not friends, Christian.”


Opening the flap on her backpack, she dropped the little tube into the abyss.


So, the angry little mouse remembered me. And she knew my name.


“Patty was right. You do have an attitude problem.” I leaned forward, smirking. “How’s that working out for you?”


“Patty’s an idiot. And my attitude’s fine. I just don’t suffer fools.” She tipped her chin, her gaze roaming over my face like I was the fool she was being forced to suffer. “Gladly, at least.”


Unsure if I was turned on or insulted, I crossed my arms over my chest and studied her posture. Insulted. Definitely insulted.


“Saint Paul called—he wants his line back,” I said blandly. “Didn’t think I’d catch that, did you? Second Corinthians—chapter eleven, verse nineteen. Look it up if you don’t believe me. And the whole ‘not suffering fools’ thing? I guess you’re in the wrong business.” Her frown intensified, which satisfied me immensely so I added a cherry on top. “Or you were, until you got yourself fired.”


As I doubled back to my seat, I heard Mel’s mint green Chucks squeaking against the floor as she stalked after me.


“I did not get myself fired,” she hissed, dropping her backpack on the table with a thud. “You were there. I made one comment.” She held up a finger. “One. And bam…I’m out the door.”


“Calling your boss ‘draconian’ probably didn’t help.” I leaned back in my seat, smiling at the fire in her eyes. “Although the general consensus at Hut’s is that you called her a dragon.”


She blinked, stunned into silence.


“A dragon?” she finally croaked, her shoulders quaking with wry laughter as she looked down. “Well, that figures.”


All that jiggling drew my gaze straight to her breasts. Even if Melody was a haughty brat, she was a haughty brat with nice tits.


Scowl firmly in place, I adjusted myself before she looked up. But I needn’t have bothered. One look at that cold gaze and my balls shriveled.


“Well, like I said, I don’t deal well with stupid,” she chirped, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “So, if you’ll excuse me.”


She smiled a totally fake, sweeter than sweet smile, then trotted away toward the stacks.


I stared after her, watching her hips sway.


Fuck me, the girl was rude. And hot. Hot, rude, and obviously smart, since she disappeared into the dusty heap of books that made up the biochemistry section of the library.


Too unnerved to concentrate on Einstein’s theory of relativity, I ripped a hand through my hair. That damn girl ruined my book buzz. And called me stupid.


Slamming my text shut, I pushed to my feet and then took off for the archives.


I found Mel sitting cross-legged on the floor amid a pile of books and notes.


She looked up at me and rolled her eyes. “What do you want?”


I was about to reply when I caught a view of her tantalizing cleavage. Those, I thought to myself.


For some reason—probably because I’d yet to tear my gaze from the firm, round globes beneath her blouse—the sixteenth letter of the Greek alphabet jumped into my head. Pi—the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter.


Before I embarrassed myself reciting the most rudimentary mathematical constant known to man, I thrust the book on Einstein’s theory at her.


“I’m reading a book on the theory of relativity, I’ll have you know.”


My less than witty retort earned me a smile. And a mocking one at that.


Dropping back on her palms, Mel primly crossed her legs at the ankle, appraising me.


“So, I’m assuming you’re here because you got stumped on one of the big words?” She arched a perfect brow. “I’m a little busy. But the librarian has a science dictionary.” Pointing in the direction of Mrs. Thatcher’s desk, she added, “It’s the big book with words you can’t pronounce. Just point and grunt—she’ll probably get the picture.”


“You’re a presumptuous little thing, aren’t you?” She didn’t answer so I crouched to examine her pile of books. “What’s all this for, anyway?”


“Busy here,” she muttered, her eyes darting from her textbook to the notepad on her knee.


Ignoring her subtle—scratch that—blatant, attempt to get rid of me, I smiled when I came across a copy of Genetic Manipulation of the Nervous System.


Close enough.


I tapped her leg with the corner of the book. When she lifted her annoyed gaze, I looked deeply into her green irises.


Before I got lost in the depths, or that damn sweet scent of hers, I said, “Did you know that only two percent of the population has green eyes?”


Thoroughly unimpressed, her lip quirked. “Good to know. If you’re done regaling me with generic information—“


“Generic? I don’t think so.” Placing the heavy text back on the pile, I continued, “The field of study is still evolving. It’s only recently come to light that there are about fifteen genes responsible for determining eye color.”


That fake ass smile tilted her lips once again. “You wouldn’t happen to be able to name any of those pesky genes, would you?”


Mel wrinkled her nose in the most adorable way as she issued the challenge. Which was going to make stomping her ass all that much more satisfying.


The first rule of thumb when you’re about to pose an argument: never ask a question if you’re unsure of the answer. Guess they didn’t teach her that in chem class.


I blew out a breath as if contemplating. But the only thing I really wondered was what color steam would come out of her ears when I was finished.


“Well,” I drawled. “I don’t have time to name them all, but the OCA2 and the HER2 are the most common. The appearance of blue, green, or hazel eyes results from the Tyndall scattering of light in the stroma.” Her lips parted, and I gave her a mock frown. “You do know what the stroma is, right? That pesky fibro vascular layer of tissue behind—” Shaking my head, I sighed. “Never mind, it’s too complicated to explain right now. Let’s start with something simpler—like brown eyes. That’s pretty easy. The shade of brown in the eyes is directly related to the melanin in the—“


Jumping to her feet, Mel glared down at me. Her gaze followed mine as I stood. Since I had almost a foot on the girl, she was now glaring up at me, but the stone cold expression never changed.


“I know what the determinates of brown eyes are, thank you very much,” she spluttered through clenched teeth.


“Sure you do.” Lowering my tone, I winked. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell any of your buddies that I stumped you with an explanation of the iris pigment epithelium.”


If Mel’s lack of verbal skills was any indication, she was even more enraged. Good. One last dig and my work here would be done.


Enunciating slowly, I leaned in to make my point. “The epithelium is in the back of the iris, in case you were wondering.” I glanced over the books and notes at our feet. “You’ve obviously got some studying to do, so I’ll let you get back to it.”


I knew damn well she probably could recite everything I told her in her sleep. The fact that she assumed I didn’t know any of it is what bothered me.


I took a step back, my smile dissolving when her hand shot out to fist my t-shirt. For a second I thought she might hit me. Instead, she rose to the balls of her feet.


The last thing I saw before her mouth crashed into mine was the fire flashing in her jade green eyes. And then there was nothing but the sweet taste of her lips, and the cinnamon and autumn scent that surrounded her.


Deepening the kiss, Mel slid her tongue over mine, stroking gently.


If this was her way of winning an argument, I was all for it.


Nudging her against the bookcase, one hand disappeared in her hair. And the other? It was everywhere.


My name in the distance forced my attention to the end of the aisle. I blinked at Mrs. Thatcher, frozen in her spot with her palm molded to her hip. Her gaze fell slowly to my wandering hand that had somehow found a home on Mel’s ass.


“Allow me to repeat myself since you didn’t hear me calling your name, Christian,” the librarian said brusquely. “I got that book you wanted on the Fender bass.”
Mrs. Thatcher then turned a speculative eye on the girl still trapped in my arms.


“Melody, you know better than this,” she admonished. “I have no problem verifying your research hours for Professor Riser, but if you’re planning on researching your own anatomy, you need to do it on your own time.”


Stepping in front of the little spitfire to keep her from getting us kicked out, I said, “We were just—“


“I know what y’all were doing,” Mrs. Thatcher interjected. “You just can’t do it here.”


Gripping my bicep, Mel stepped around me.


“I-I’m sorry, Mrs. Thatcher,” she said, employing a soft tone I didn’t think she possessed. “I was just…my boyfriend came by to see me and…” Stammering, her cheeks brightened to the color of ripe tomatoes. “We were just…leaving.”


Falling to her knees, Mel hastily gathered her things. She shoved a book in my hand, which I accepted without question, then crammed the rest of her notes into her backpack.


Curling my hand around her arm when she finished, I helped her to her feet.


Mel swallowed hard, shifting nervously as she addressed Mrs. Thatcher with a tight smile. “If you wouldn’t mind not mentioning this to Professor Riser, I’d really appreciate it.”


A smile ghosted the librarian’s lips as she folded her arms over her chest. “That’ll cost you an hour of reading to the kids in the daycare center to make up your time. Deal?”


“Deal.” Melody’s shoulders sank in what I assume was relief. “Thank you, Mrs. Thatcher.”


Stiff as a statue, Mel didn’t look at me until the librarian’s footfalls were out of earshot.


“Give me my book,” she growled.


I chuckled at her attempt at a fierce glare. “Boyfriend, huh?”


“Obviously, that was for Mrs. Thatcher’s benefit. I already lost one job; I can’t afford to have my professor questioning my research hours.”


I tucked her text under my arm. “Are you researching genetics?”


Shifting her fiery gaze to the book I was holding for ransom, she pondered her response for a long moment. My smile more or less assured she wouldn’t get what she wanted until she answered my question.


She closed the distance between us, her hot breath tickling the hollow of my neck. I thought she might kiss me again—which I was totally down for—so I relaxed.


Big mistake.


Her greedy fingers shot out and snatched the text before I could react. Studying me with an unreadable expression, she held the book like a shield to ward off my advances. Which was funny as hell since she was the one who kissed me.


Composing herself, she took a step back and then sighed. “At the moment I’m concentrating on proteins.” She offered a curt smile, all business. “I’m a Beckman Scholar, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a lot of studying to do.”


Swooping her backpack from the floor before she had the chance, I nearly fell over from the weight of the damn thing.


“There’s really no excuse for you, sweetheart,” I deadpanned.


Sweetheart? I wasn’t sure if she had a heart—sweet or otherwise. But she damn sure tasted sweet. Cherry lip balm lingered on my lips from the searing kiss, the memory of her velvet tongue sending a tingle to the base of my spine.


Seizing the moment, and her blessed silence, I slid my hand into hers. “You’re rude, arrogant, and presumptuous, just like I said. But you’re also kind of cute. So I guess I’ll let you buy me a cup of coffee and tell me all about your research.”


Book 1
As the guitarist for the rock band Caged, I know the rules: no relationships. No complications. Leave ‘em willing when you go, but always go. Besides, it’s not like I’m ever in one place for more than a few days at a time. As the next hottest thing out of Austin, the band and me are riding the wave, and the music is all that matters.

Until her…

Lily Tennison has “complication” written across her beautiful face. But I can’t get involved. The timing’s all wrong. But she’s under my skin, and I can’t resist her troubled eyes and sweet smile. And I do have a little time to kill. Not much, just a few days in Dallas.

So I’ll scratch the itch and move on, like I always do.

Simple, right?


So…Who is Jayne?

As a writer you would think that would be a simple question…but it’s not. I spend so much time living in my characters heads, listening to their voices, that sometimes I forget about my own.

I guess I should start with the basics: the backstory. I was born and raised in California. At this point, I’m usually asked what it was like to grow up near the beach, but sadly, I don’t know. I grew up in the “other” part of California. Perfect for an aspiring writer, if you ask me. You learn a lot about keeping yourself busy when the nearest house is a mile away…and it belongs to your grandparents.

I spent all my time with my nose in a book, living vicariously through the characters, until I wrote a book of my own. I was ten at the time. It was a scintillating piece that cast the family pet as the protagonist.

By the time I went to high school, I moved on to romance. Why? Because I met my very own prince charming. I wrote love poems in my journal about the green-eyed boy who stole my heart. He promised, the way all storybook heroes do, to sweep me away and take me on a grand adventure. And he did.

We picked up and moved to the Lone Star State and began the story of us. The best stories begin without a road map or a compass. Veering off course makes the journey so much more interesting.

True to form, just when I thought my life was set, we started the next adventure. I traded in my cowboy boots and followed my green-eyed boy to Las Vegas. My home will always be in Texas, but my heart is anywhere that he is. Our beautiful daughter made the journey with us. Our son stayed in Texas, to write his own story.

Somehow, in the midst of the chaos that is our life, I find time to write. Writing is what I love. I might stray from romance every now and then if that is what moves me…but I always come back. Some of the stories don’t seem romantic at all. They are gritty stories about flawed characters that find each other and hold on tight. Those are the stories that speak to me. Because that’s life. I believe that every story should have a happy ending—even the difficult ones.


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My Previous Interview(s) with this Author : April 2015

My Previous Review(s) for this Series : Book 1 | Book 2

My Previous Mention(s) of this Author's Books/Characters : Blog Tour: Gone for You by Jayne Frost | Interview, Spreading the Word & Gift Card/Novel Giveaways | Best Book Couples -- Happy Valentine's Day 2016 | Blog Tour - Fall With Me by Jayne Frost | Cover Reveal, Spreading the Word, & GC Giveaways | Blog Tour - Fall With Me by Jayne Frost | Book Release Day & Spreading the Word | My 2017 Best Book Couples List | Blog Tour - Fall With Me by Jayne Frost | Spreading the Word, #Review, & GC #Giveaway

Monday, February 26, 2018

Idolizing In: Beyond the Stars by Stacy Wise | #BookReview @StacyWiseBooks

- This was an ARC book - Available Formats through Amazon: Paperback - Pages: 300; Kindle Edition - File Size: 1243 KB | Release Date: February 8, 2016 | Publisher: Entangled Publishing : Embrace | Obtained: NetGalley

"Beyond the Stars" by Stacy Wise

Author's Book Description : A new adult romance from Entangled's Embrace imprint...

Falling for him wasn't in the plans...

Most girls would kill for the opportunity to work for Jack McAlister, Hollywood's hottest actor, but twenty-one-year-old Jessica Beckett is ready to kick him out of her red Ford Fiesta and never look back. She should be spending her junior year in France, eating pastries and sharpening her foreign language skills. Instead she's reluctantly working as Jack's personal assistant, thanks to her powerhouse talent agent aunt.

Jack is private, prickly, and downright condescending. Jessica pushes his buttons—she's not the type of girl to swoon over celebrity heartthrobs, precisely why her aunt thought she'd be perfect for the job—and Jack pushes right back.

But as she begins to peel away his layers, Jessica is shocked to find she craves her boss's easy smile and sexy blue eyes. The problem is, so does the entire female population. And what started out as the job from hell soon has Jess wondering if a guy like Jack could ever find love with a regular girl like her.

My Book Review : 5 out of 5 stars!!

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Blog Tour - Made the Grade: The de Montforte Brothers Series, Book 1 by Danelle Harmon | Guest Post, Review, & Giveaway

Today I'm turning my blog over to Danelle Harmon, who is talking about the top things that make a great historical romance hero!

ALSO -- Be sure to comment on this post to be able to sign up for this tour's GIVEAWAYs (listed below)!! [Blog Tour will run from July 23 - August 3, 2012]



What are the top 5 things that make a great historical romance hero and why? :

First off, I'd like to take the time to thank you, Jess, for hosting me on your blog today!

You ask a wonderful and thought provoking question, and one that I'm happy to answer. In real life, true heroes can seem to be few and far between, and often "too good to be true." We all know of the drop-dead-handsome guy who is as unfaithful as the day is long, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. We all know of the recklessly courageous man whose constant need for an adrenalin rush makes him unavailable and undependable. We all know of the sweet guy who is as kind as the day is long, but lacks courage and allows the world to walk all over him. Perfection (so to speak) is seldom found in the real world, and mature people will take the good with the bad (as we hope our own "heroes" do with us!), but we don't have to settle for compromises in a romance novel. Oh, no! There, the elements that make a true hero combine into one perfect, wonderful, fantastic, (and usually impossible to find in real life) man!

I could write forever on the qualities that make a great historical romance hero, and for each reader, they may vary, but if I were to pick five, they would be:

  1. Courage. A man without courage has no business as the hero in a romance novel. Period. It takes courage to stand up to wrongs, it takes courage to save a heroine trapped on the edge of a high cliff, it takes courage to go into battle, it takes courage to admit a deep, dark secret that might mean the end of a treasured and precious relationship. All four of my de Montforte heroes face these and other challenges throughout the course of the series, and all of them are wildly imbued with courage, but a good example of it is shown by Lord Gareth de Montforte of "THE WILD ONE," the first book in the series. Down and out on his luck, and determined to show the world that he has grown up and can, indeed, be the husband and father his young wife believes he can be, he voluntarily subjects himself to a dangerous situation where he's pitted against a man much his superior in strength, size and experience -- a man who has been paid to kill him. Gareth has the choice to either walk away with his life intact ... or to follow through, even knowing the odds are against him, in order to win a home for his beloved wife and tiny daughter -- and sense of self-respect that has long been denied him. That is courage ... and it's wildly sexy!

  2. Integrity. A person who can't or won't stand up for his own convictions, and/or what he knows is right, is no hero in my book. It takes a certain amount of courage and self-confidence to stay true to one's ideals, and the best romance heroes are those who don't falter or waiver from their beliefs, no matter what the cost. This quality is aptly demonstrated by my hero, Lord Charles de Montforte in "THE BELOVED ONE," whose unreasonably high expectations of himself cause him incredible pain and nearly destroy him. But he never waivers from what he knows to be right, no matter what his own desires or the cost to his own personal happiness, and that is wildly attractive in any hero!

  3. Intelligence. A smart guy is a sexy guy; just look at how many nerd-types are showing up in romance novels these days! What woman in her right mind would want to spend her days with a guy who may be all brawn, but no brains? But in romance novels, we get to have both. One example of a super-intelligent (and very sexy) hero is Lord Andrew de Montforte, the hero of my book "THE DEFIANT ONE." A gifted inventor/scientist who takes refuge from the world in his laboratory after a terrible accident, Lord Andrew creates inventions that are guaranteed to change things: if not the world, then certainly his life, which is just the case when he creates an aphrodisiac that sends him and his heroine, Lady Celsiana Blake, on a hilarious journey of love and laughter. A smart guy is a sexy guy; there's no denying that!

  4. Devotion/Faithfulness to the Heroine. From presidents to sports figures, the news is depressingly full of rich, handsome, extremely powerful men whose downfalls come about because they just can't be faithful to one woman. Do we really need to find these guys in a romance novel? This one doesn't need any explanation! After all, what woman doesn't fantasize about being the sole and abiding craving of one of the richest, most powerful and handsome men in the land? A duke, no less? A man who has eyes for her, and for her alone? Eva de la Mouriere encounters just such a man in Lucien de Montforte, the mighty Duke of Blackheath, in "THE WICKED ONE." Even when tragedy strikes and Eva is told she will never be able to give her husband the heir he so desires, he isn't going anywhere. His love for his duchess is true and abiding and she is as essential to him as air and water; his adoration for her is as fixed as a star in a mariner's sky. To be the enduring fascination of such a powerful and sexy man ... does it get any better than that?

  5. Basic Goodness. Is there anything sexier than a guy who is kind to children, to animals, and to others? A man who goes out of his way, perhaps even at great personal risk to himself, to make life better for someone else? Tortured hero Damon de Wolfe, the sixth Marquess of Morninghall and naval captain who has fallen from grace, begins his hero's journey in "WICKED AT HEART" from a place of despair, apathy, and a burning need for revenge. It takes a very special heroine to awaken him to the basic goodness that is in this man's heart, and to turn that goodness into a force to be reckoned with. Damon will eventually risk his very life in an attempt to make life better for those around him who are suffering indescribable pain -- and that makes him a hero well worth meeting!

There are many "ingredients" that go into the recipe of a great romance hero, and these are just a few of them. I hope you've enjoyed reading my thoughts on this fascinating subject, and as for me, I've greatly enjoyed being here today. Thank you, Jess, and the readers of From Me To You, for hosting me. It has been a pleasure, and an honor, to be here!



About the Author :

Multi-award winning and critically acclaimed author Danelle Harmon is the author of ten books, previously published in print and distributed in many languages throughout the world. A Massachusetts native, she married her English husband while living in the United Kingdom, and both now make their home in Massachusetts with their daughter Emma and numerous animals including four dogs, an Egyptian Arabian horse, and a flock of pet chickens.



- This is an ARC book - Available Formats through Amazon.com: Paperback - Pages: 384; Kindle Edition - File Size: 916 KB | Expected Release Date: May 2012 | Publisher: Self-Published | Obtained: Goddess Fish Promotions

"The Wild One" [The de Montforte Brothers Series, Book 1] by Danelle Harmon

My Book Summary : Everyone who knows of his family knows Lord Gareth as The Wild One. He's reckless, the leader of his friends group called 'the Den of Debauchery,' popular with the ladies, and enjoys his carefree lifestyle. That is until Juliet falls into his life and turns his world upside down.

Juliet is from the colonies, the wilderness of Maine to be exact but most recently Boston. She is on her way to meet the Duke of Blackheath (her beloved's, Lord Charles, older brother) to see if he and his family (the de Montforte's) will take her and her daughter, Charlotte, in and help them out. However, on her way to meet the Duke of Blackheath her stagecoach gets robbed. Gareth, not far from robbery, becomes the hero when he attempts to stop the robbers and gets hurt during the process. During the time, that Juliet tries to help Gareth with his wound they find out about each other---that Juliet is Gareth's dead brother's fiancée, Gareth is the Duke & Charles' younger brother, and Charlotte is Gareth's niece. Gareth brings Juliet to the de Montforte home and while he's recuperating they get closer and become friends.

However, finding it hard to get over his "wild" ways, once Gareth is better, he takes out his Den members to have a bit of fun. Yet by the next morning Juliet & Gareth's lives change completely when they find out that the Duke won’t help Juliet out, so Gareth decides to step-up and help them out the only way he can think of how ... to marry Juliet!!

Will this be the best solution for them both?? Will they find that their feelings for each other are more than just friendship? Can Juliet finally settle down The Wild One??

My Book Review : 3.5 out of 5 stars! This fast-paced historical romance will show you what it's like to be the carefree third-son of a Duke who decides to finally become the man he was meant to be, yet has no idea where to begin. It's a very intriguing tale of heartache, new love, friendship, and the lengths one will go to keep those who he loves the most. I really liked the easy relationship/banter between Juliet and Gareth!! They were perfect for each other and setup a wonderful beginning to this series!! Plus, the surprise twist at the end is very shocking that I just not sure, how to take it, so it'll be interesting as to how the second book, "The Beloved One," will develop the series.

I recommend this novel and series to anyone who enjoys historical romances!

- On a side note -
I think I was a little biased with how much I liked Juliet since like her I'm from Maine too. =0)

Author's Series Extras : My first blog post! | Music to Write By

Book Teaser(s) :
"You, my dear, do not know how to have fun."
"I do, too!"
"You do not. You are as bad as Lucien. And do you know something? I think it's time someone showed you how to have fun. Namely, me. You can worry all you like about our situation tomorrow, but tonight ... tonight I'm going to make you laugh so hard that you'll forget all about how afraid of me you are."
"I am not afraid of you!"
"You are."
And with that, he pushed his chair back, stalked around the table, and in a single easy movement, swept her right out of her chair and into his arms.
"Gareth! Put me down!"
He only laughed, easily carrying her toward the bed.
"Gareth, I am a grown woman!"
"You are a grown woman who behaves in a manner far too old for her years," he countered, still striding toward the bed. "As the wife of a Den member, that just will not do." ~ within Chapter 18
For more information on this book, series, and/or any other books by Danelle, then please check out her website.



Book Excerpt :

Prologue

Newman House, 18 April, 1775

My dear brother, Lucien,

It has just gone dark and as I pen these words to you, an air of rising tension hangs above this troubled town. Tonight, several regiments — including mine, the King's Own — have been ordered by General Gage, commander in chief of our forces here in Boston, out to Concord to seize and destroy a significant store of arms and munitions that the rebels have secreted there. Due to the clandestine nature of this assignment, I have ordered my batman, Billingshurst, to withhold the posting of this letter until the morrow, when the mission will have been completed and secrecy will no longer be of concern.

Although it is my most ardent hope that no blood will be shed on either side during this endeavour, I find that my heart, in these final moments before I must leave, is restless and uneasy. It is not for myself that I am afraid, but another. As you know from my previous letters home, I have met a young woman here with whom I have become attached in a warm friendship. I suspect you do not approve of my becoming so enamoured of a storekeeper's daughter, but things are different in this place, and when a fellow is three thousand miles away from home, love makes a far more desirable companion than loneliness. My dear Miss Paige has made me happy, Lucien, and earlier tonight, she accepted my plea for her hand in marriage; I beg you to understand, and forgive, for I know that someday when you meet her, you will love her as I do.

My brother, I have but one thing to ask of you, and knowing that you will see to my wishes is the only thing that calms my troubled soul during these last few moments before we depart. If anything should happen to me — tonight, tomorrow, or at any time whilst I am here in Boston — I beg of you to find it in your heart to show charity and kindness to my angel, my Juliet, for she means the world to me. I know you will take care of her if ever I cannot. Do this for me and I shall be happy, Lucien.

I must close now, as the others are gathered downstairs in the parlour, and we are all ready to move. May God bless and keep you, my dear brother, and Gareth, Andrew, and sweet Nerissa, too.

Charles


Sometime during the last hour, it had begun to grow dark.

Lucien de Montforte turned the letter over in his hands, his gaze shuttered, his mind far away as he stared out the window over the downs that stood like sentinels against the fading twilight. A breath of pink still glowed in the western sky, but it would soon be gone. He hated this time of night, this still and lonely hour just after sunset when old ghosts were near, and distant memories welled up in the heart with the poignant nearness of yesterday, close enough to see yet always too elusive to touch.

But the letter was real. Too real.

He ran a thumb over the heavy vellum, the bold, elegant script that had been so distinctive of Charles's style — both on paper, in thought, and on the field — still looking as fresh as if it had been written yesterday, not last April. His own name was there on the front: To His Grace the Duke of Blackheath, Blackheath Castle, nr. Ravenscombe, Berkshire, England.

They were probably the last words Charles had ever written.

Carefully, he folded the letter along creases that had become fragile and well-worn. The blob of red wax with which his brother had sealed the letter came together at the edges like a wound that had never healed, and try as he might to avoid seeing them, his gaze caught the words that someone, probably Billingshurst, had written on the back....

Found on the desk of Captain Lord Charles Adair de Montforte on the 19th of April 1775, the day on which his lordship was killed in the fighting at Concord. Please deliver to addressee.

A pang went through him. Dead, gone, and all but forgotten, just like that.

The duke of Blackheath carefully laid the letter inside the drawer, which he shut and locked. He gazed once more out the window, lord of all he surveyed but unable to master his own bitter emptiness. A mile away, at the foot of the downs, he could just see the twinkling lights of Ravenscombe village, could envision its ancient church with its Norman tower and tombs of de Montforte dead. And there, inside, high on the stone wall of the chancel, was the simple bronze plaque that was all they had to tell posterity that his brother had ever even lived.

Charles, the second son.

God help them all if anything happened to him, Lucien, and the dukedom passed to the third.

No. God would not be so cruel.

He snuffed the single candle and with the darkness enclosing him, the sky still glowing beyond the window, moved from the room.


Chapter 1

Berkshire, England, 1776

The Flying White was bound for Oxford, and it was running late. Now, trying to make up time lost to a broken axle, the driver had whipped up the team, and the coach careered through the night in a cacophony of shouts, thundering hooves, and cries from the passengers who were clinging for their lives on the roof above.

Strong lanterns cut through the rainy darkness, picking out ditches, trees, and hedgerows as the vehicle hurtled through the Lambourn Downs at a pace that had Juliet Paige's heart in her throat. Because of Charlotte, her six-month-old daughter, Juliet had been lucky enough to get a seat inside the coach, but even so, her head banged against the leather squabs on the right, her shoulder against an elderly gent on her left, and her neck ached with the constant side to side movement. On the seat across from her, another young mother clung to her two frightened children, one huddled under each arm. It had been a dreadful run up from Southampton indeed, and Juliet was feeling almost as ill as she had during the long sea voyage over from Boston.

The coach hit a bump, became airborne for a split second, and landed hard, snapping her neck, throwing her violently against the man on her left, and causing the passengers clinging to the roof above to cry out in terror. Someone's trunk went flying off the coach, but the driver never slowed the galloping team.

"God help us!" murmured the young mother across from Juliet as her children cringed fearfully against her.

Juliet grasped the strap and hung her head, fighting nausea as she hugged her own child. Her lips touched the baby's downy gold curls. "Almost there," she whispered, for Charlotte's ears alone. "Almost there — to your papa's home."

Suddenly without warning, there were shouts, a horse's frightened whinny, and violent curses from the driver. Someone on the roof screamed. The coach careened madly, the inhabitants both inside and out shrieking in terror as the vehicle hurtled along on two wheels for another forty or fifty feet before finally crashing heavily down on its axles with another neck-snapping jolt, shattering a window with the impact and spilling the elderly gent to the floor. Outside, someone was sobbing in fear and pain.

And inside, the atmosphere of the coach went as still as death.

"We're being robbed!" cried the old man, getting to his knees to peer out the rain-spattered window.

Shots rang out. There was a heavy thud from above, then movement just beyond the ominous black pane. And then suddenly, without warning it imploded, showering the inside passengers in a hail of glass.

Gasping, they looked up to see a heavy pistol — and a masked face just beyond it.

"Yer money or yer life. Now!"

~~~~

It was the very devil of a night. No moon, no stars, and a light rain stinging his face as Lord Gareth Francis de Montforte sent his horse, Crusader, flying down the Wantage road at a speed approaching suicide. Stands of beech and oak shot past, there then gone. Pounding hooves splashed through puddles and echoed against the hedgerows that bracketed the road. Gareth glanced over his shoulder, saw nothing but a long empty stretch of road behind him, and shouted with glee. Another race won — Perry, Chilcot, and the rest of the Den of Debauchery would never catch him now!

Laughing, he patted Crusader's neck as the hunter pounded through the night. "Well done, good fellow! Well done —"

And pulled him up sharply at he passed Wether Down.

It took him only a moment to assess the situation.

Highwaymen. And by the looks of it, they were helping themselves to the pickings — and passengers — of the Flying White from Southampton.

The Flying White? The young gentleman reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out his watch, squinting to see its face in the darkness. Damned late for the Flying White...

He dropped the timepiece back into his pocket, steadied Crusader, and considered what to do. No gentlemen of the road, this lot, but a trio of desperate, hardened killers. The driver and guard lay on the ground beside the coach, both presumably dead. Somewhere a child was crying, and now one of the bandits, with a face that made a hatchet look kind, smashed in the windows of the coach with the butt end of his gun. Gareth reached for his pistol. The thought of quietly turning around and going back the way he'd come never occurred to him. The thought of waiting for his friends, probably a mile behind thanks to Crusader's blistering speed, didn't occur to him, either. Especially when he saw one of the bandits yank open the door of the coach and haul out a struggling young woman.

He had just the briefest glimpse of her face — scared, pale, beautiful — before one of the highwaymen shot out the lanterns of the coach and darkness fell over the entire scene. Someone screamed. Another shot rang out, silencing the frightened cry abruptly.

His face grim, the young gentleman knotted his horse's reins and removed his gloves, pulling each one carefully off by the fingertips. With a watchful eye on the highwaymen, he slipped his feet from the irons and vaulted lightly down from the thoroughbred's tall back, his glossy top boots of Spanish leather landing in chalk mud up to his ankles. The horse never moved. He doffed his fine new surtout and laid it over the saddle along with his tricorn and gloves. He tucked the lace at his wrist safely inside his sleeve to protect it from any soot or sparks his pistol might emit. Then he crept through the knee-high weeds and nettles that grew thick at the side of the road, priming and loading the pistol as he moved stealthily toward the stricken coach. He would have time to squeeze off only one shot before they were upon him, and that one shot had to count.




Giveaways!! :
  • A digital copy of book two, "The Beloved One" to one randomly drawn commenter at every stop during the tour

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To Enter : Please leave a comment on this post, with a valid email address included at the end of it.

Soo .... COMMENT, COMMENT, COMMENT on this post!! And you could WIN!! =0)

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Find Danelle Harmon :
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