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Monday, September 5, 2016

Blog Tour - Moonbeams of Unintended Consequences by Muffy Wilson | Spreading the Word & Kindle Fire or $100 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway

MOONBEAMS OF UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCESby Muffy Wilson

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:

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!

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!

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!

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?

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

A $25 Amazon Gift Card to one randomly drawn commenter during the tour

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)

ALSO -- Be sure to follow the tour around the other blog sites! Commenting on the other stops on the tour will also increase your chance of winning!

Find Danelle Harmon :

Danelle Harmon - Website
Danelle Harmon - Blog
Twitter
Facebook
Goodreads
The Wild One is only $0.99 at these locations : Amazon.com | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords | Kobo

Monday, September 5, 2016

Blog Tour - Prodigal by Jody Wallace | Interview, Spreading the Word, & Critter Prize Pack Giveaway

Today I'm showing off Jody Wallace's "Prodigal," which is her recently released novel, the THIRD novel in her Maelstrom Chronicles, and the novel I recently interviewed her about!

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(s)!! [Blog Tour will run from September 5 - 13, 2016]

My Q&A with Jody Wallace :

Jess : Which of your characters would you most & least like to invite to dinner, from which book and why?

Jody : Most like to invite to dinner – Adam Alsing from "PRODIGAL." He has amnesia and it would be a lot of fun to introduce him to foods he hadn’t had a chance to eat yet. Plus he’s very friendly and a good conversationalist and would maybe even charm my mother.

Least like to invite to dinner – his love interest, Claire, also from "PRODIGAL." She would probably hate my cooking and tell me I was bad at it. The woman has no filter. Hm, unless I invited them at the same time, which might be my smartest move. Adam has a mitigating effect on Claire, and I wouldn’t want her to miss out on Adam trying peanut butter chocolate ice cream cake for the first time.

Jess : Please describe your Maelstrom Chronicles in one to five sentences.

Jody : When black and red devils invade Terra (our earth), its citizens are shocked when beings who claim to be “angels” show up to aid them in their time of need. Many believe—and many do not. Turns out the ones who didn’t believe had the right of it, as the angels are actually technologically advanced aliens who try to save planets from otherdimensional entities without spoiling those planets’ unique cultural systems. The Maelstrom Chronicles are the stories of how the Shipborn aliens and Terran humans navigate the war with the entities once the apocalypse has begun and the truth is revealed.

Jess : Is there any differences and/or similarities between Adam from your "Prodigal" and Nikolas (Niko) from your "Traitor?"

Jody : Adam and Niko are both guys. They’re both heterosexual, as far as I know. Both willing to die for the people they love. The resemblance ends there.

Niko’s a highly trained warrior who had a lot of issues with his father and his upbringing and has taken his father’s place as the general of Ship. He’s careful, serious, and somewhat cynical. His past drives him to create a better future for everyone on Terra and everyone aboard Ship 1001, even though he has to go against the Shipborn’s laws to do it.

Adam, on the other hand, has complete amnesia about his life before "PRODIGAL." He’s eager to learn about the world he’s forgotten, helpful, good-humored (Niko’s a grouch), brave, and more than a little reckless. He doesn’t think things completely through before acting on them, because he doesn’t want to miss out. He’s not the opposite of Niko, but the important thing is he’s a good match for Claire, the heroine of "PRODIGAL." He brings passion and optimism into her life in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

Jess : Out of all of the secondary characters within your Maelstrom Chronicles, do you have one or two favorites so far? If so, who are they and can you tell us why?

Jody : I’m really pleased readers have responded so positively to Ship, who’s probably my favorite secondary character in the Maelstrom Chronicles. Ship is the AI who runs the giant spacecraft used by the “good” aliens. In this universe, Ships evolve into sentience at a certain point in their life cycle, at which time they are “born” and get to choose their role in the Shipborn fleet. Ship 1001, who’s about 100 years old, is a mother hen, a smart ass, a worry wart, a matchmaker, an adventure seeker, and a psychologist all rolled up into one giant, blue glowing matrix. I really enjoyed imagining a nearly-omniscient being who didn’t have an organic body. How would that influence that being’s personality and development, its hopes and dreams? How would it maintain relationships with organics? What would it do for fun?

I’m also really fond of Claire’s sister Tracy Lawson, who was a pediatrician before the apocalypse and is now one of the foremost Terran experts in Shipborn medical techniques. She’s stealthy, clever, and an excellent actress when she needs to be. She uses crutches due to a medical condition, which she has converted into weapons, of course. People stupidly underestimate her all the time. She is one of the few characters who doesn’t take any crap from her sister, and she has a weakness for beauty products and little luxuries. In "TRAITOR" there were hints she had a fling with a Shipborn pilot—but was it for real or was it for some other purpose? Tracy is multilayered, highly intelligent, and very independent. If I ever write a book about her, I know she’ll make a fantastic protagonist.

Jess : Do you have any other projects in the works? If so, can you share a little of your current work with us?

Jody : Unfortunately I don’t have anything in any condition to share! I’m very shy with my work until it’s polished.

"Prodigal"
[Maelstrom Chronicles, Book 3] by Jody Wallace
Author's Book Description :

He nearly destroyed the world, but with her help, he can save it.

This book is available to order on :

Amazon (e-Book) USD | Amazon (Paperback) USD | Barnes & Noble (NOOK Book) USD | Barnes & Noble (Paperback) USD | Shop Your Local Bookstores (IndieBound - Paperback) USD | Kobo (e-Book) USD

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

About the Author :

Jody Wallace grew up in the South in a very rural area. She went to school a long time and ended up with a Master's Degree in Creative Writing. Her resume includes college English instructor, technical documents editor, market analyst, web designer, and all around pain in the butt. She resides in Tennessee with one husband, two children, one Grandma, six cats, and a lot of junk.

My Previous Review(s) for this Author : Pack and Coven

My Previous Mention(s) of this Author's Books/Characters : Entangled Otherworld Fortune Teller Booth at Entangled Publishing's Summer Carnival | Blog Tour, Guest Post, Spreading the Word & GC Giveaway

Book Excerpt/Teaser(s) :

-- Chapter One --Claire flipped down the visor of the Humvee when the late afternoon sun nearly blinded her, reflecting off the white of the latest snowfall. She and two other loads of able bodies out of Camp Chanute were returning from a hardware- and tech-foraging mission to the mostly deserted city of Bloomington, Illinois. The long, straight roads, free of debris and stalled cars, didn’t lend themselves to ambushes—humans or monsters. Detritus littered the highways to the north, thicker as the roads approached Chicago.
She didn’t make foraging trips toward Chicago if it could be helped.
But the visor didn’t cancel out the glare. She blinked and squinted. Her eyesight had been enhanced by her Shipborn associates, enough to ascertain the flash of light wasn’t reflecting off the snow. For that kind of glint, it had to be a metallic object.
An object that hadn’t been there when they’d driven this road this morning. She knew this highway well, and that huge field had dead corn in it. Nothing else.
“Slow down,” she told the driver. “You see that?”
Will shook his head. “I just see snow. Snow and old, dead corn. Maybe it’s one of the Children of the Corn.”
“Shut up.” Not visible to the human eye, then. Claire flicked on the radio to talk to the supply truck. Dixie had the best binoculars. “Dix, what do you make on the right side of the road? Far midfield.”
Static crackled through the speaker before Dixie’s response. “I don’t see any…wait. Huh. There’s a big silver thingamabob, but sugar, I don’t know what it is. Weather blimp or something? Could be Shipborn.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Will, get us closer.”
Will stepped on the accelerator, increasing speed until the object came into focus—sleek and silver, possibly some kind of vessel. No landing marks around it, but no snow built up on it, either. Didn’t look like Ship 1001 or its shuttles, which tended to be roughly triangular. More like a giant pill, so brightly silver it was almost white. Hard to see against the patchy snow. Was that a window? A door?
The sun emerged from behind a cloud and sparkled on the metal again, obscuring the details.
“I’m going to check it out. Hold position,” she advised Dixie before directing Will off road.
When the Humvee thumped through the corn stubble that rose above the snow, she pressed a hand against the ceiling to keep from bouncing into it. A gentle rise ahead took them out of sight of the object.
“Be careful,” Dixie chided over the radio. “Last time you went to check something out, that group of survivalist dregs from Chicago ambushed you.”
Soul-sucking black shades and vicious flying red daemons, the most common varieties of the interdimensional entities currently attempting to destroy their planet, weren’t the only dangers on post-apocalypse Earth. The Shipborn had helped quell the worst of the human-against-human atrocities, but their code wouldn’t allow them to lord over the planet the way Claire sometimes wished she could.
Her fellow Terrans could be a bunch of fucking idiots when they half tried. The planet was in shambles after the entity invasion that had begun in California over two years ago, making it increasingly impossible for the natives to police the masses and maintain any semblance of justice. That was why she and her team had set up a civilian settlement in Illinois instead of seeking the dubious safety of the Eastern states in the so-called safe zone.
Claire shoved her coat sleeve off the blaster band around her wrist and opened the window. “Come on, Dix. Bygones. Respect the badge.”
“Sure, Sheriff.” She could practically see the other woman’s dimples. “But I’m still telling Tracy and Mayor Newcome on you for not calling this in first.”
“If I reported it,” Claire answered reasonably, “I’d just browbeat everyone into agreeing that I should check out…whatever it is. This saves time.”
Both men in the Humvee with her chuckled. Claire might run Camp Chanute with military precision, but she didn’t insist on mealy-mouthed respect from her people.
She sure as hell didn’t give any mealy-mouthed respect to anybody, so it would be hypocritical of her to demand it. She was a stubborn asshole according to her sister, and a foul-mouthed sourpuss according to Dixie, but she wasn’t hypocritical.
They crested the rise almost on top of the silver object. About forty feet long, and narrow, with rounded ends. Couldn’t tell heads or tails on it. This close she didn’t see any doors or windows. The whole thing looked like a single piece of metal—no joints.
“What the hell is it?” Will said. “Some kind of rocket?”
“I don’t know.” Tactanium, the non-Terran metal favored by the Shipborn, was pale silver like this thing, but not as glossy. The surface of the object was practically mirrored, and the bullet shape was completely unfamiliar. “Shit. Guess I need to check it out with a sensor array.”
“You should have worn it in the first place.”
“I hate the way it feels.”
“I’ll wear it,” he offered. “I like talking to Ship.”
“Nah, I got this.” The creepy little piece of advanced tech gave Ship 1001, the nosy sentient AI spacecraft that the Shipborn called home, access to her brain, and that didn’t always mesh with her plans.
Will brought the Humvee to a stop a decent distance from the object. Claire and her deputies—really, most Terrans in general—relied on native tech for communications, transportation, and daily activities. Though she was favored by the Shipborn, having given birth to the current general’s daughter a year and a half ago, Shipborn tech wasn’t infinite. The Shipborn were cut off from their people now and trapped in the Terran system with limited supplies. That was what happened when you violated your society’s laws just to save some measly primitive planet.
With a grimace, Claire plucked the translucent jumble of wires from an inside coat pocket and flipped down the visor mirror. Aligning the endo-organic end with the neural implant in her temple, she allowed it to squiggle beneath her dark skin. It sank into place inaudibly, but she felt the vibration of it in her skull. She nestled the rest of the wire around her short, tightly curled black hair like a crown.
The crown that made her the Queen of Assholes, but hey, she got shit done.
She focused the array’s nano-computer on the object, activating the scanning feature.
It didn’t register. At all. No power source, no metal, no nothing. It was as if the object wasn’t there.
“That is not good,” she said to her men. “Sensor’s not picking it up.”
“A mirage?” Will suggested, staring through the windshield. “Light rays could refract off the snow.”
“That is one solid-ass mirage.” Claire swung open the door of the Humvee, and the other two did the same. She hadn’t needed to give the order to free their tactanium blaster bands from their parka sleeves.
A warning pinged on the sensor as the scan completed, presenting her with some information that was almost as worrisome as a vessel her sensor array couldn’t detect. “Folks, I’m picking up signs of entity activity. Past few hours.”
“Shouldn’t be any shades here.” Will scruffed a hand over his chin. “Do you think this is one of those invisible shade hits?”
“We’ll look for bodies,” Claire said grimly. A whiff of rotten garbage reached her, confirming what her sensor had already warned her about the shades.
In the past six months, there had been a huge uptick of human bodies drained of life by shades in areas where no shades had been reported by Shipborn or Terran inspections. That shouldn’t be the case in the buffer zone. Daemon attacks, sure—those bastards could fly anywhere. But shade hordes crept along at barely a mile an hour on a good day, and remained in contact with larger bodies of shades. The primary shade hordes were tracked by both Terran military on the planet and the Shipborn from space, and there were no hordes close to Illinois.
It was a mystery. Camp Chanute and other settlements had lost people—good people. Scouts, foragers, farmers. No scans, no searches, and no flyovers had been able to locate the shades responsible. It couldn’t be daemons or really perverse humans depositing the bodies from elsewhere, because the surroundings always evidenced molecular shade residue. Had to be shades, leaving traces on that spot, doing the killing.
It was like the entities were picking off stragglers, people who ventured too far away from protected compounds. The problem was, once they ate all the loners, they’d go for the towns.
“Will, warn Dix about the shade traces. Tell her she and the supply truck should head back to Chanute and raise a level two alert.” The laser rifle Jeep would be enough cover. Once they were inside the walls of Chanute, they’d be better equipped to deal with attacks from entities or more mundane raiders.
The other deputy in the Humvee, Randall Barber, craned his neck, checking the sky for daemons. Will didn’t immediately obey. “Mayor Newcome won’t like you raising an alert without consulting her.”
“Don’t care.” Claire scanned the skies, too, her enhanced eyes picking up nothing unusual. Clouds, birds, incipient snow—that was all. “My job is security. Her job is paperwork. Your job is to do what I say. Now go.”
Will jogged back to the Humvee.
“Greetings, Claire.” Ship spoke through the sensor array. “You’re using your array. Do you require assistance?”
“Hold up,” she told Ship, trying not to be irritable. Unlike the Shipborn, who’d used their communications and sensor arrays their whole lives, she always had to adjust to Ship’s voice in her head. “We’re investigating shade traces in a place they shouldn’t be and a possibly alien object of some sort I’ve never seen before. I’m calling it a UO.”
“I will scan the larger area,” Ship volunteered. “You must be protected from danger. You should value yourself more, Claire. You’re a mother.”
Ship wasn’t the kind of sentient machine that waited to be told what to do. It wasn’t the kind that refrained from butting in, either. Or eavesdropping. Or nagging.
“I’m doing exactly what Frances needs her mama to be doing,” she responded. “Protecting our people. This isn’t a high threat situation. The UO is just sitting here. But we do have shade residue.” She sent visuals of the object to Ship, orbiting the planet far above.
“I will run it through my databanks. Do you want me to send aid?”
“Hell, no, don’t send any Shipborn here. We picked up shade traces.” The risk was too great for the Shipborn themselves to venture away from the safe areas of the planet—or the sky—and lately the buffer zone no longer qualified. “We got this.”
“As you wish.” The AI had taken a liking to Claire. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was Frannie’s mom and Niko’s ex, or because Ship was Ship.
She didn’t return the liking, but she tried to hide it. Ship definitely had feelings, and Claire had hurt them more than once. Since Frannie lived on Ship with Niko and his wife Sarah part time, it wouldn’t do to have Ship get pissy with Claire.
Scuffing her feet through the icy snow, Claire kicked around until she found what she wanted. She picked up a small rock and weighed it in her hand. It would do. With careful aim, she lobbed the stone at the silver vessel.
It pinged off the metal with a high-pitched noise like a tuning fork. Claire gritted her teeth as the sound scraped across her nerves.
“Well, that’s unusual,” Randall observed laconically.
The noise swelled instead of faded. Soon it became so intense that she and Randall were stuffing their fingers in their ears.
“To hell with this.” She raised her blaster band and let it heat up to a good level. The UO’s whine sang in her eardrum like the teakettle from Hell. She blasted the object with a white-hot bar of Shipborn’s finest laser weaponry.
The beam pierced the silver tube, and the surface shimmered. Shivered. But it didn’t explode.
It should explode. She liked it when things exploded.
She shut off her laser and protected her ears. This damned silver object definitely counted as a thing that needed to be destroyed.
“Ship, gimme another reading,” she shouted over the din.
“I detect life signs approximately fifty paces in front of you,” Ship responded promptly. Even though the AI was in her head, she could barely hear it over the high-pitched resonance. “I do not detect any human bodies.”
“Recalibrate your sensors on my exact location,” she yelled back. “You’ve got interference or something. Didn’t you see the pictures? There’s a forty by ten foot silver metallic object in the spot where you think you see life signs, and it’s hitting us with some kind of noise weapon.”
They were forty minutes out of Camp Chanute. She didn’t need this kind of mystery so close to her home base.
“The photograph showed a barren field, not an object. A forty by ten foot metallic noise weapon is not a device I have in my databanks.”
Claire reviewed the images. Blank. “Why doesn’t it photograph?”
She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to get any closer if the thing wasn’t showing up on sensors.
Then again, she and her people were the ones on the scene, and it was their duty to investigate.
Finally the deafening chime faded.
“There is a life sign in the location of the object you think you see,” Ship insisted, more urgently. “It is a human life sign. It is fluctuating. The individual may require assistance.”
“I don’t see anybody.” She gestured to Randall, sending him around one side. Could this be the answer to the shade hits in the buffer zone? Were they in time to save today’s victim? “Don’t touch anything.”
Slowly she advanced. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily at the continued whiff of carrion and ozone. Her heart pulsed. “You smell the shades, right?”
Was her sensor broken? Or her senses?
Randall nodded. “Roadkill.”
“There are no current entities in your area,” Ship assured her. “I have a tight focus on your proximity. You are twenty-five feet from the life sign, at a south-south-west diagonal.”
That would take her to one end of the UO. Randall had reached one tip and peeked behind it. Wariness tightened her skin, and the chilly breeze on her cheeks faded to nothing. “Anything back there?”
“Nothin’.” He waved toward the horizon. “Your shot passed through the vessel.”
“If it’s a vessel.” Just because it had an aerodynamic bullet shape didn’t make it a ship. It could be—hell, she didn’t know. A Terran military gadget. A weather balloon. A time capsule. Most likely, though, it was an alien device, and that didn’t bode well. “Ship, are you sure the UO I described isn’t something your people’s enforcers might have? Like a bomb to blow us all up? If they’re supposed to make sure the Shipborn obey the rules, I can see why they’d come after you. You guys sure as hell aren’t sticking to code.”
“As far as I can ascertain, the enforcers have made no move to investigate my crew’s code breaking. The beacons that mark this system as off-limits would have notified the enforcers of our continued violation,” Ship said.
“Why would you know if they were coming after us?” She inched toward the UO, blaster revved and ready. “You talk about the enforcers like they’re so much more advanced than you that you wouldn’t stand a chance against them.”
“I do not know,” Ship answered. “But it has been eighteen months and we are surviving unmolested.”
“Unmolested by your homeland security guys… Wait a minute.”
A crack appeared near one end of the ship, slowly expanding. Behind the crack was a blackness that churned like shades but…
A large, pale human stumbled out of the craft. Naked. He landed on his hands and knees in the corn stubble and snow, gasping for breath.
Blaster hot, she aimed at the figure, but no shades oozed out after him. The crack in the UO remained quiescent. The roiling of the blackness must have been her imagination. Now it just looked dark inside.
“Hold it right there,” Claire demanded unnecessarily. The man didn’t stand up. He didn’t even lift his head. She scanned him with the sensor array, picking up elevated levels of testosterone and adrenaline—he was afraid.
But he wasn’t dead. Was this going to be their first save from one of the mysterious shade hits?
Randall jogged back from the other side of the capsule, instantly on guard against the stranger. He’d been an experienced hunter before the apocalypse, so he was good with guns, but he wasn’t exactly military.
“Are you hurt?” she asked the stranger warily; he wasn’t the only one on edge. “Were you attacked by shades? Can you tell me what this silver craft is and how you got here?”
The man didn’t respond. His shaggy blond hair clumped like it hadn’t been washed in ages. Muscles bunched and twitched in a body that seemed to be well honed, not malnourished.
“I found your life sign,” she told Ship, transmitting the readings via her array. “It’s a naked ass white boy, and I think he’s deaf. Please tell me you’re getting these images, at least.”
“Not deaf,” the man croaked. So he could talk. “Water. Please.”
“I’ve got some in the Humvee.” Her sensors continued their probe, assessing the man’s physical condition. Ship would ID the fellow soon enough, but at least he spoke English. She didn’t have many translators at Chanute besides Ship, and using Ship to translate was a pain in everyone’s ass. Ship…paraphrased a lot. “Can you walk or do you need help?”
“I don’t know.” He rose, shaky and shivering. He stood over six feet, and every inch of him was lean, molded perfection. His cock nested in hair a couple shades darker than the clumps on his head, and not a single blemish marred the surface of his pale skin. In contrast to his impressive physique, he swayed like he was coming off a three-day bender.
Claire found herself rushing forward to support him and barely stopped herself from grabbing his arms. He could have interpreted that as aggressive. She would have decked any stranger who tried to touch her, especially if she was naked.
“Did you fly here? Is this some kind of escape pod?” she asked more politely now that she could be pretty sure he wasn’t about to attack. She’d grown more apt to help people since becoming sheriff. All that responsibility changed a woman. Arguably so did becoming a mother, but it wasn’t until she’d founded Camp Chanute along with the rest of her team that her obligations really sank in. “What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“Where’d he come from?” Randall advanced from behind, closing in. If this guy was military, he was bound to react to that.
He didn’t. He didn’t answer their questions, either. He stood there like an ashen pillar of flesh, shivering. His vitals read as stable on her sensor array, but his core temperature was lower than it should be. For obvious reasons.
“Check out the inside of the UO, Randall. Carefully. See if he left his clothes in there.”
Blaster hand aimed in front of him, her less than stealthy deputy tromped through the wide opening of the otherwise nondescript silver object.
She was curious and worried about the UO, but she was more curious about the stranger. Where had he come from? Why was he naked? He didn’t seem shy about his body—and who would be, with a body like his? But he had to be miserable. “You realize it’s below freezing out here, right?” She shrugged out of her coat and thrust it at him. Winter air cut through her protective tactanium vest and fatigues, but she wasn’t the one who was naked and trembling. “Put this on.”
Voice still rough and dry, he answered. “Thank you.”
This close, she could assess him more carefully without getting disrespectful. He was definitely in good shape. His body looked like a fitness photo shoot waiting to happen, minus the oil, but this wasn’t the time and place to ogle. They both held onto the coat a minute—she was a little worried the weight of the parka would pitch him over on his face. “What’s your name?”
At last he raised his head to look at her.
Sea-green eyes in a perfectly chiseled face pierced her like the laser beam had pierced the silver UO. Through and through. She felt that gaze in her brain, her gut, and her knees. It zinged with energy. Heat flushed her skin but then dribbled away as recognition struck her.
She knew that face.
Everybody on the planet knew that face.
“I don’t know how I got here,” he said. “I don’t know what my name is.”
Claire swallowed the hard knot of anger that had risen at the very sight of him.
“I know what it is.” She released the coat and took a hasty step away from this man, this man who everyone knew was dead. “Your name is Adam Alsing, and you’re a fucking idiot.”

He was so easy on the eyes he was practically pornographic. ~ within Chapter 6

“I’ll come with you,” he said, which was her preferred answer, so she smiled at him.
He grinned back.
Her stomach got a butterfly when their gazes connected. Just one. She didn’t have time for a whole gutful of the distracting little bastards. “I was hoping you’d say that.” ~ within Chapter 11

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Sunday, August 7, 2016

Entangled Ignite & Select Suspense Shooting Gallery Booth at Entangled Publishing's Summer Carnival | Blog Tour, Guest Post, Spreading the Word & GC Giveaway

Welcome to the Ignite and Select Suspense Shooting Gallery Booth! Authors Mari Manning, Christina Elle, Avery Flynn, and Julie Castle each wrote an original scene featuring new or existing characters at the shooting gallery at a summer carnival.. We hope you enjoy them, and don’t forget to enter the giveaway and grab your copies of the books below! [Blog Tour will run from August 5 – 14, 2016 & Giveaway will run until August 15, 2016]

Summer Carnival-Ignite & Select Suspense Scenes Featuring Mari Manning, Christina Elle, Avery Flynn, and Julie Castle
~ "Shooting Blue-Eyed Ducks" By: Mari Manning ~

“Go again, McCaffrey?”
Thomasina Lind turned to the man standing next to her at the Shoot ‘Em Up booth. The Zapata Texas County Fair surrounded them with sounds of laughter and tinny music, and the smells of popcorn and hot dogs. The evening air was thick and humid.
Jake McCaffrey looked down at her, and a half-smile—a friendly, but far from intimate half-smile—tugged at his mouth. “Until we have a winner,” he said. “Course, we already know who that will be.”
“You are every kind of fool if you believe that.” She tried to smile past the squeeze of her heart.
He tilted his head and frowned. “You just swallow a horsefly?”
“What?” Jeez.
“You heard me.”
“No.” She lifted her long, thick hair off her neck. “I’m just a little hot.”
For a split second his gaze dropped from her face, sweeping down her body, then it was back. “There’s hot, then there’s hot.”
Was that an interested look? “What?”
“That horsefly must’ve bit your tongue.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it when she realized she was about to say ‘what?’ again.
This was not going well. Not well at all. Jake McCaffrey was her best friend. They’d been part of a group of friends in college, and when they ended up in the same town, well, it seemed natural to hang out together. Except Jake had grown on her until every time she saw him, her mouth would sort of water, and she couldn’t keep her eyes off his wide mouth and baby blues, his mile-wide shoulders, his—
“Seriously, Tommie. Are you okay?”
“No. I mean, yes. I’m okay. I just, uh, I just wanted to tell you something.”
“Shoot.” He grinned at his bad pun.
She glanced around. The old geezer in the booth stared at her, and the two girls behind Jake giggled. “Not right here.”
“What is going on? Are you sick?” He leaned into her.
The warmth of his body and woodsy scent of his aftershave filled her with a sweet-sad feeling because she wanted him and he wasn’t hers. Maybe he never would be. But there was only one way to find out. The hard way.
She wanted to holler at him, “Look at me, Jake McCaffrey. Really look at me. I’m a goddamn woman.” Just get it all out. The bottled-up feelings, the tingling desire to touch his skin, the need to be in his arms. But she lost her nerve. Instead she said, “Sometimes I feel like we’re more than friends.” Her heart was banging in her chest, and she almost gagged on the word ‘more’.
Surprise flashed in his eyes, then the light changed to recognition. He knew what she was saying. He tugged on his Stetson, and his handsome face fell into shadow. “Let’s see what you got.”
She couldn’t help herself. “What?”
He lifted his gun. “Best shot gets to ask any question he—or she—wants, and the loser has to tell the truth. Straight up. Deal?”
Confused, she sought his gaze, but in the shade of his hat, his eyes appeared dark and unfamiliar. She turned away and lifted her gun. What choice did she have? She’d gone this far. Their friendship was already damaged because he knew.
“Ladies first.”
“Thanks.” She slid the word between them, cutting the tension with sharp sarcasm. And sounding normal. Almost.
A Texas girl born and bred. She’d been shooting since she was eight. She lifted her gun. It felt familiar, and her nerves settled. The red and yellow ducks paraded across the target. A blue-eyed yellow duck emerged. Bang. Duck one. This was fun. She waited for another blue-eyed duck. Followed it in her sites. Bang. Duck two.
One more to go. Should she send a message? Just because I want you doesn’t mean you can mess with me. Yeah. Definitely. She waited. Three brown-eyed ducks, one green, then the blue was back. She felt full of life and optimism. She pulled the trigger. Bang. Duck three—gone.
She looked up at Jake and shrugged.
“Seems like you got something going for those poor blue-eyed critters.” The half-smiled tugged at his lips, and she wanted to lasso the world for him.
“Seems like I do. Your turn.”
He lifted his gun. “Maybe I should take out the brown-eyed ones.”
Well, at least he’d noticed the color of her eyes. “Shouldn’t be hard. There’s more of them.”
He chuckled, then shot a blue-eyed duck. “Dang.” But he didn’t sound sorry. He tightened his stance and shot again. Another blue-eyed duck went down.
One more. Whether he hit the next duck or the contest went on for a few more rounds, truth time was close. Sweat dampened her shirt, and dust dried in her throat. She was sorry she started this. They were friends. It was better than nothing, wasn’t it?
“If it’s a draw, let’s just leave it,” she said. “Besides the show is starting soon.”
He didn’t even look at her. “Bullshit.” Then he shot. A red duck dropped.
So did her jaw. He lost. Jake lost.
He set down his gun and turned to her. “Ask me anything.”
Stunned, she backed up a step. She’d expected to do the explaining. But now. It was yes or no, and he got to decide.
His hand slid over her arm, and he guided her around the side of the booth. Beside her, the ping, ping, ping of the shooting gallery seemed like it was a million miles away. She glanced up expecting sympathy or uncertainty. But his expression was closed.
“I don’t know if you’ve…I mean I wondered if…Have you ever considered…” Her cheeks began to burn.
He shifted. “That’s what I thought you meant.” Then he bent and cupped her face, tilting her mouth up to his. His baby blues shone softly.
One long, slow, sweet kiss later, he said, “Yes.”

~ By: Christina Elle ~

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Samantha Harper gazed at Ash Cooper with defiant blue eyes and a hand planted firmly on her hip. He’d grown accustomed to that look in the short time they’d known each other. It meant that an argument was on its way.
“When you said let’s practice, I didn’t realize you meant with guns that don’t shoot bullets.”
Well, yeah. With her aim and accuracy, the no bullets part was the biggest appeal.
They stood in the middle of St. Stanislaus Church parking lot, where a carnival had been erected to help raise money for a mission trip to Honduras. There wasn’t much wind in the middle of July in Baltimore, which added to the muggy and stifling air quality. A shocking amount of people turned out given the high temperature and humidity. It was the kind of day that when you stepped outside you walked through a wall of moisture.
A thick sheen of sweat soaked the back of Ash’s grey T-shirt, his boxer briefs were suctioned against his skin, and his flip-flops squeaked when he walked. If he was going to be this hot and sweaty, he’d much rather it be for a more physical and private reason.
But he’d promised to help her get better at shooting so she could pass the police entrance exam, and that’s what he was going to do.
Without bullets.
“You need help handling a gun,” he said, gesturing to the Shoot ‘Em Up booth. “And this is the best way to do that without all the pressure of a real weapon.”
She opened her mouth, most likely to rebut since that was one of the only things she did know how to do, but must have agreed with his logic because she snapped it closed.
“Well, yeah,” she said, “but where’s the sense of danger in shooting water into a clown’s mouth?” She pointed to the painted face with open mouth about ten feet away that had seen better days.
Again. Kinda the point. If she missed with these guns he’d only go home slightly wetter than he was right now. But with the other kind of gun? He shuddered thinking about the damage to his favorite organs.
There was enough distraction today because of her attire. No need to add anymore with the use of real ammo.
Sam was in one of her tank tops with thin straps. The kind that did wonders at warming his already heated blood. The damn woman was a nuisance and a burden on his common sense. The top of her shirt danced on the cusp of showing just enough cleavage to tease him without taunting him, but tight enough to show off her small, perky breasts. It was one of the reasons he’d suggested they get out of the house in the first place. His row home, which was next door to hers off 19th Street, was much too small with her staring at him in that thin fabric.
They’d been arguing again about her insistence to help him and his DEA teammates find a dangerous drug lord. He’d told her to stay the hell away. She’d told him to go to hell. He was ready to either strangle her or screw her senseless. Since his DEA Regional Director wouldn’t approve of either option, the only alternative was getting out and being around other people.
Still didn’t extinguish his desire. In fact, it heightened it. He kept glancing around the carnival and fantasizing about all the dark places they could sneak into for a few hot interludes together.
He shook his head and reminded himself that he’d brought her here with a purpose that didn’t include getting the two of them off.
They’d spent the first hour at the carnival enjoying the robust scenery of people, eating funnel cake and corndogs, and riding some of the more tame rides.
He could see another argument bubbling inside her right now. The tense turn of her bony shoulders. The firm set of her jaw. The challenge in her wide-set eyes. She was gearing up to dispute his logic of practicing her shooting skills at the carnival.
Stubborn woman.
“This used to be one of my favorite games as a kid,” he said, trying to distract not only her tenacious attitude but his lust too.
“Really?” she asked.
He gave a small smile in response, remembering the hours he’d spent every summer sneaking away from his paper route to shoot a couple of rounds. Then, how he’d had to slip the stuffed animals he’d won through the back door of their two-bedroom house before his dad would see them.
Ash picked up the gun next to hers and yanked upward to loosen the hose connected at the butt of the weapon. A familiar sensation coasted through him. The feel of metal in his hand. The rush of water shooting out the barrel. The pure joy he felt being stellar at something.
He rested his elbows on the counter and closed one eye to look down the imaginary sight. He aimed at one of the clown’s vacant eyes, which was a dingy white orb where the pupil should have been. Then he moved the barrel to the clown’s mouth where red paint had chipped away, revealing spatters of white plaster below. He lowered his attention. The target in the back of the clown’s throat was MIA and his green and white polka dot bowtie was cracked in half. The rest of his friends in the lineup were just as bad off. They looked more like something out of Stephen King’s IT, than a fun, family-friendly carnival game.
Setting the gun on the counter, Ash turned to her. “You made me ride on those slow-ass sissy rides. Now we’re gonna do something I wanna do.” He crossed his arms, readying for her verbal attack. “Besides, shooting is shooting. Whether it’s water or bullets, you still have to hold the gun, aim, and fire. All things we both have witnessed are issues for you.”
The intensity in her eyes died and hurt crept in, making him feel like a dick. But he didn’t apologize. It was the truth, and no one climbed great walls by sugarcoating the vast desert they had to cross to get there.
She glanced at the face across from them that wore a faded blue newsboy hat, round red nose, and a deflated yellow balloon protruding from the top of his skull, and bit her lip.
“Afraid you might lose?” he asked, knowing that would pull her out of her hesitation. If there was one thing Samantha loved, it was a healthy dose of competition.
So did Ash. He reveled the push and pull against a worthy opponent who wouldn’t give up or give in. And he knew for damn sure that Sam didn’t ever give in. On anything. Which was what made sex with her so appealing. She wasn’t one to be dominated, two things that Ash craved. He dominated everything. So to have a woman give back just as much as he was putting out. Well, let’s just say he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to ignore their attraction.
As expected, she snapped her head in his direction, a line forming between her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He propped his hip against the counter, placing one foot over the other. “I’m gonna whoop your ass. Is that why you don’t want to give it a try? You afraid to lose?” Ash picked up the water gun, glancing at her, and pointed it toward his clown. “Understandable. I mean, I am an excellent shot.”
“Oh, please,” she said, her posture growing more confident with each second. Straightening her spine, her shoulders went back and her neck elongated.
Goddamn she looked amazing when she got all worked up. It took everything he had not to tug her against him and crash his lips onto hers.
“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, standing and setting the gun down. “Most people can’t compete. I don’t want you to feel bad after I pop my balloon before you even have a chance to blow yours up.”
She lifted onto her toes to make up the difference in their height, intruding on his personal space, so he dipped his chin to meet her halfway. Her blue eyes blazed and her lip snarled slightly.
It was a hot fucking sight. One he wanted to see in a much different situation. One where he could really push her limits and feel the full intensity of her wrath.
His mouth curled. Go ahead. Take it out on me. I’ll take everything you got, and then some, sweetheart.
“You think you have this in the bag?” she asked, her cheeks growing pink. “You think I can’t do it? I can’t beat you?”
“I know you can’t,” he said, loving the way her eyes widened in barely contained fury. His fists curled at his sides so he wouldn’t reach out for her. “There’s no way you’ll beat me.”
Still on her tiptoes, she narrowed her eyes. “Oh, yeah?”
He lowered even more, nearly resting his nose on hers. “Yeah.”
She swallowed hard. “Want to bet on it?”
“What do you have in mind?”
Sam dropped to her normal height and glanced past him. “Hmm,” she mused. “I don’t know yet. But I want it to be really, really good. So how about we just say that I reserve the right to pick once I win?”
“But you’re not going to win,” he said.
Hand on her hip again. “How can you be this confident?”
He returned the gesture. Just for fun. “Which one of the two of us can shoot their target perfectly with one hand behind their back and their eyes closed?” He lifted his eyebrows at her.
Instead of the embarrassed expression he expected, she gave him a self-satisfied smirk. “Guess which one of us just upped the ante.”
“The what?” he asked. “What do you mean?”
“Since you have the advantage, you’ll be shooting with one hand behind your back and your eyes closed.”
“Now, wait just a second. How the hell am I supposed to see the target?”
She shrugged. “You tell me, Dirty Harry. You’re the genius who bragged about your abilities. Figure it out.”
“This is bull,” he said. “There’s no way I’ll be able to fill my balloon in time. It takes precision. I need to be able to gauge the water’s trajectory.”
She crossed her arms and quirked one eyebrow. “Now who’s afraid to lose?”
He wasn’t going to lose. That couldn’t effing happen.
Not with his training and experience.
“Wanna back out, chicken?” she asked, still grinning. She even clucked. Clucked!
“Hell no,” he said. No way.
“Then let’s do this,” she said, slapping a dollar bill on the counter.
An older woman around fifty years old with short light blonde hair came from the dunking booth next door and greeted them. “Ready to play?” ‘
“Yes, we are,” Sam said. “Aren’t we, Ash?”
“Sure,” he grumbled, pulling out another two dollars. “Best two out of three though.” He wasn’t taking any chances on a fluke.
The older woman nodded and flicked a switch on the side of the booth.
“Have fun,” she said, smiling as she walked away.
Sam turned to him. “So how do we do this? Just count one, two, three, go?”
Not answering, Ash picked up his gun, rested his elbows on the counter as he’d done before and tried to concentrate on the target before she made him closed his eyes.
Sam didn’t change her posture. Just picked up the gun and pointed with one hand in the direction of the clowns.
“Don’t forget,” she said, staring ahead, “eyes closed when I get to three.”
“Yeah, yeah. Start counting.” He kept his absolute attention on the open mouth of the clown in front of him. That’s all that mattered right now. Eye on the prize.
“Fine,” she said. “One…Two…”
A steady stream of water shot from her gun and landed perfectly in the open mouth of her clown.
“What the fu—!” He caught sight of the older woman to their right, giggling, and stopped himself from finishing the curse. He pressed the trigger on his gun as hard as he could, not bothering to close his eyes. He watched as Sam’s balloon filled up twice as fast as his. “Cheater.”
She didn’t turn, but he knew she heard him because she let out a loud bark of laughter. “What? I needed some sort of advantage.”
Within seconds, her balloon popped first.
She turned with a triumphant grin. “That’s one. One more to go.”
“Next round you won’t get so lucky.”
“Actually, I probably will,” she said. “I’ve got a new balloon.” She nudged her chin in the direction of the older woman strapping a pink balloon on Sam’s clown. “Yours is all stretched out. It’ll hold more water before it pops. Mine has tighter resistance, so it should pop first.” She flashed him all teeth, and he actually had to remind himself to breath. Almost had to beat on his chest to get his damn ticker to restart too.

Ash blinked, bringing himself back to reality and the importance of winning this damn game. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m counting this time.”
Sam shrugged, unconcerned. “Have at it.”
He readied himself on his elbows again, focusing on nothing but that small, open hole. “One…Two…” He snuck a peek at her. She had one eye closed and her tongue half out of her mouth in concentration. “Two and a half…”
Sam let out a small chuckle. “Come on, or I’m going to shoot right now.”
“Three.”
Both of their guns fired at the same time. His stream hit his target immediately. Hers waivered. She muttered a brief, “shit,” before she righted her aim. His balloon filled up much faster this time, and she must have sensed that the trophy was drifting farther out of her reach, because she quickly raised her other hand to hold on more firmly to the gun.
His balloon kept filling.
And filling.
And fucking filling.
Hers was half the size of his when it popped.
Damn it.
Despite holding onto the trigger like it was his lifeline, the water drained and he had to set the gun down.
“I want a rematch,” he said. “That was rigged.”
She turned with a broad, triumphant smile and threw her arms around his neck. “I won!” she shouted through laughter. “I freaking won! I beat you! I can’t believe it, but I beat you!”
Before he had a chance to react or understand what was happening, she pulled his face down to hers and she planted a quick, chaste kiss on him that rendered him speechless.
“Admit it,” she said, arms still around his neck. “I won. Not quite fair and square, but I still won.”
He wasn’t concerned with the score anymore. “If I agree with you, will you kiss me again?”
A small smile played on her lips. “Why don’t you try and see what happens.”
“You wo—”
She yanked his face down again, and this time when she placed her lips on his, it wasn’t quick and it sure as hell wasn’t chaste. It scorched every piece of him, burning through his entire body until he felt nothing but the desire to carry her back to his place and show her just how much she really had won.
One…two…three kisses at a time.

~ "Bad Boy on Tap" By: Avery Flynn ~

Aurora Calvert was twenty bucks in and no closer to a fuzzy unicorn the size of Rhode Island than she’d been when she’d stepped up to the Fantasy Shoot ‘Em Up booth. The ten year old behind her was getting restless. Her trigger finger was sweaty. The hot guy manning the booth was looking at her like she’d lost it. Maybe she had.
In her defense, setting foot back in Salvation, Virginia had the tendency to make a person go nuts. Fast. But when her shithead of a cousin, Myron, had bet there was no way a girl who’d spent the last five years in the city could still do the Salvation County Fair Ride and Shoot Challenge, she wasn’t about to back down. All she had to do was hit one measly target—easier said than done after six back-to-back turns on The Hammer of Death.
“You’re not giving up are you?” Myron asked, as full of himself as he was of a six pack of Sweet Salvation Brewery’s finest.
“Just suckering you in.” Oh yeah, and buying some time for her double vision to chill the fuck out. “Care to raise the bet?”
“A thousand,” he sneered.
She gulped. “Fine.”
“Are you sure you wanna do this?” the carny asked.
Even seeing two of him thanks to the way her brain had been shaken and stirred while she’d been spun around and around in the Hammer’s metal cage before plunging almost to the ground, she had to admit that the dude was hot. Tall with broad shoulders and a tight butt, he had tattoos climbing up both thick, muscular forearms. His aviator shades didn’t give anything away, but she’d bet her agent’s share of her last TV hosting gig that his eyes were dark, brooding and more than a little bit wild. Just when her stomach had finally settled, the hot carny had the butterflies doing the tango.
She blinked hard. “I’m good.”
One dark eyebrow arched high enough to be seen over the rim of his shades as he handed her the freshly loaded BB gun. “Do you ever back down from a challenge, honey?”
She raised her chin an inch higher. “Never and I’m not your honey.”
She lined up her shot, focused on the clown’s nose in the middle and—
“DON’T MISS!” Myron shouted in her ear right as she pulled the trigger.
She jerked the BB gun in surprise. The shot went wild, ricocheted off hot carny’s very large and very ornate belt buckle and hit the middle clown square in the nose, knocking it down.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Aurora put the gun down before she gave into the temptation to shoot Myron’s boney little ass with it as he ran away.
The carny rubbed a calloused thumb over the BB-sized dent in his belt buckle. “A few inches south and I’d be giving my answer in a higher octave.”
“I’m so sorry.” Embarrassment heat her cheeks to face-of-the-sun temperatures. “I’m usually a much better shot.”
“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll let you make it up to me with dinner.”
Aurora was in Salvation for a week to prep for the next season of her newest show for House and Garden TV, dinner with anyone—let alone a totally hot stranger who spent his life traveling from town to town—was not on the menu. She’d learned her lesson about bad boys and wanderers. It wasn’t one she ever needed to repeat.
“I don’t think so.” She softened the refusal with her best sweet smile. It was the one she used when the design swap contestant obviously hated their house makeover.
He took a step closer so that only the edge of the booth separated them. “It’s not a request.”
“Say again?” She took a defensive step back.
He slipped off the sunglasses, revealing eyes so blue the summer sky in June could take a few pointers from him. She knew those eyes. Adrenaline shot through her veins hot as rocket fuel and just as fast. Beau McCullum. See bad boys exhibits A through ZZ. He wasn’t just the lesson. He’d been her master class in poor decisions and lifetime regrets.
“What’s wrong?” Beau turned on enough sex appeal and dangerous charm to give her a sunburn. “Don’t you recognize your own first love?”
She hadn’t fainted from riding The Hammer of Death. She hadn’t lost her nerve when it came time to get on The Dragon’s Tail for the third time. But faced with the man who’d broken her heart and nearly ruined her life? Oh yeah, her knees got more than a little wobbly.
“I thought you were in prison.” It came out breathy and weak. How in the hell had she missed his release?
“Not any more, honey.” All the heat disappeared from his eyes, replaced by cold, black ice—-the kind that you never noticed until it was too late. “And you have a lot of explaining to do about how I ended up there while you got off scot-free.”

~ "Shooting Stars" By: Julie Castle ~

It was bad enough that she was roaming Chicago’s Navy Pier at midnight when she should still be partying at the Hyatt with her fellow new Delta Star Grads, but even worse Cassandra McLean didn’t exactly know what the blazes she was doing here. A cryptic note left in her evening bag had told her to come to the Shooting Gallery for her first assignment. It was highly unusual, to get a posting this way, even for an agency that flew under the covers like Delta Star did. At the same time this was too big an opportunity, and too intriguing to pass up.
Especially for someone like her who’d barely scraped by in training, almost getting drummed out of the agency when she stuck up for an instructor who’d been tarnished by false accusations. Dylan Fox might be a lot of things but dirty wasn’t one of them. Cool, untouchable, a legendary secret agent yes, but dirty no. You’d think Director Frost would be pleased when she defended Fox at the top of her lungs. He hadn’t made the drug buy he’d been accused of. She’d been in the gym at the time the buy had allegedly gone down. It had never happened. Instead of thanking her for trying to exonerate one of his agents the Director had been quietly pissed; even Fox himself had given her the cold shoulder before he left.
Shaking in her spike heels, she cursed the fact that she’d let her roommate talk her into wearing high heels to the party, as she took in the mixed crowd that jostled for position around the Shooting Gallery. The park would be closing for the evening in about ten minutes and it seemed everyone wanted to get in their last shot. Not that she could blame them, even if these games were rigged. A slick businessman in a tailored suit was mowing down tin ducks like they owed him money. Sailors from the Great Lakes Naval Station, pristine in their crackerjack uniforms that always made her smile were missing more than they were hitting, teenagers were placing bets and showing off for their girlfriends, and the girls pretending they couldn’t shoot. At least she didn’t have that problem, no romantic entanglements for her. Yikes how could she find her assignment amidst the crowd?
Blending in was impossible given that she was in evening clothes, but then whoever’d sent her the note had to know that. The sea parted as the teenagers walked away. She walked up to the concession booth and froze. Dylan... was dirty alright! From the stubble on his chisled face to the tats covering his toned arms bared in the black wife beater tank top he sported, and non-regulation longish hair she wanted to rake her hands though, he was all kinds of dissreptuable.
What on earth! Had this all been a cheap trick on his part to ruin her graduation party? He was leaning on a half wall chatting up a couple of giggling twentysomethings who ought to know better, flirting with a carnie. He winked at them as they walked away and Cassie fumed. What was he trying to pull? He said something to the older woman stocking the prize wall beside him and she smiled and walked away.
So he could be nice when he wanted to, not that he’d ever extended that courtesy to her. And now he’d ruined what should have been one of the happiest nights of her life, the dirty, rotten, SOB. She stood frozen as he turned to gather the shooting gallery rifles and saw her standing there. The shock of recognition in his whiskey brown eyes made her freeze, even as it made her heart race. Then his lambent gaze swept over her from her spiked heels, to her silver party dress, the skirt billowing around her bare legs in the summer breeze off Lake Michigan, to the body hugging camisole top containing her breasts that crazily tingled and budded as he looked at them, to her dark hair upswept in a French twist.
She’d tried to look sophisticated for the party tonight and not like the wrong side of the tracks tomboy she was. She’d even let her roommate talk her into trying heels. Apparently she’d succeeded going by the smile on his face as he gazed at her. Heart slamming against her ribs she couldn’t have run even if she wanted to. Besides she suddenly didn’t want to and he had some explaining to do, didn’t he? She had to at least get that out of him.
“You’ve grown up little Cassie.”
“I’m not little,” she replied annoyed. She hated when he used that little condescending tone, like when he’d taught a class on counter terrorism, before he’d been disgraced and fired on trumped up charges.
He smiled. “Believe me, Precious, I know.”
Was that a crack about her weight. Tall, and built along somewhat Amazonian lines she’d always been a bit sensitive about that. But no his sultry gaze lingered in the vicinity of her breasts. The hussies that they were, they swelled as his gaze lingered on them longer than was polite.
He appeared to realize it too as he shook his head and looked down. “So, Precious, what are you doing here, slumming?”
~
Dylan Fox did his level best to ignore the beauty before him, trying to think. What the hell was going on? Come on think stupid this is what they pay you the combat pay for. Sexy little Cassie McLean didn’t just casually come down here by chance. Something was rotten with this set up. He’d known it from the start. Things had almost been jinxed from the beginning when the little firebrand had vocally defended him at Delta Star, almost ending his mission before it started. She had more guts than many he could name which is why he’d convinced the Director to keep her on when he’d been inclined to fire her for insubordination. No harm, no foul, and it had been a novel experience to have someone try to save him. And now she was here in the middle of this clusterflop.
He really didn’t give a shit about himself but he would not lose her to not so friendly fire. Okay, so the sailor boys were pounding beers and missing the targets. The slick in the suit was aiming like he was a sniper, and soccer mom looked like she wanted to kick a wall. Nothing looked wrong but his gut told him it was. He always listened to his gut. Hell maybe she’d tracked him down because she wanted to see him. Yeah, and pigs would fly soon. He finally met her gaze. It was the look in her emerald green eyes that got to him the most, sharp as hell, incisive, and hurt. Great now he wanted to kick a wall. Instead he put the shooting gallery guns back in their holders on the counter, buying himself some time. Cassie was glaring at him, practically vibrating with outrage. So her looking for him for a quickie was off the menu he told himself with a smirk trying to keep it light. All he had to do was move her along try to figure this out.
~
Cassie seethed as he all but ignored her. What a jerk and to think she’d stuck up for him. Obviously the Director had him bang to rights. But no, that drug buy had never happened and she always told the truth. Lies only festered and caused pain, life had taught her that lesson. So what kind of lies was he telling? Damn it all he could at least pay attention to her. And what was with that slumming crack of his? He was so not going to get away with blaming this debacle on her. It was a good thing the park was starting to empty because she was going to tell him exactly what she thought of him. “As if you didn’t know,” she hissed. “What the hell are you trying to pull, luring me down here just to make fun of me?” She saw the startled look in his eyes at her words, saw him scan the crowd behind her again, as if they just washed off his back. “You could at least be polite and look at me when I’m yelling at you.”
~
Dylan’s gut clenched at her confirmation that someone had sent her down here. He sure as hell hadn’t done it. Her class of Delta Star Grads were whooping it up at the Hyatt, which explained the gown she was wearing. He was used to seeing her in uniform or sweats at the gym, nothing like this glamorous getup. Maybe that was why he’d been a little slow on the uptake. Yeah and maybe your losing your edge after one too many missions. But all that was meaningless now. She’d had his back at the academy and he had to have hers now. He looked past her to assess the situation. He scanned the crowd, his focus mainly on the slick in the suit, the wanna be rambo. The guy finished his shots, set the toy rifle down, and reached into his jacket. Shit, Dylan automatically drew his weapon, training kicking in along with adrenalin. He kept his weapon in the shadows hidden along his thigh while Cassie glared at him clearly not picking up the source of his tension. “Five bucks lady,” he said gruffly reaching down to pull a rifle out from under the counter. No way he would keep her undefended if they took him out.
~
She actually gaped at him when he thrust the rifle into her hands her outrage tipping over into hurt feelings territory. What now, was he just trying to make a buck off her? She opened her mouth to accuse him of just that when the weight of the rifle broke through her fog of outrage. Cold, heavy, long barrel. Oh shit! She glanced down to confirm what she’d instinctively sensed and gulped when she saw the sniper rifle in her hands. She’d aced that class, graduating as a sharpshooter. That’s when she saw the Glock in Dylan’s hand. He was keeping it out of sight but it was there. Okay time to stop going on hurt feelings, start acting like an agent, and get a flipping clue. No he, and the Director, hadn’t sent her on this assignment but it had found her just the same. She looked up at Dylan and saw the resolution and worry in his eyes and nodded. He didn’t send the note. She’d been the Jonah leading his enemies to him. Distracting him and letting someone get the drop on him. Around her she saw movement. Sailors laughing, the businessman shooting, others strolling by.
“Any advice?”
~
Dylan sighed when he watched the slick in the suit drop a tip in the jar and start to walk away. He noticed Cassie following his lead and felt a little better. At least she had good instincts, it might give them a chance. He didn’t drop his guard watching the suit walk away.
“What’s going on,” she said softly.
“Can’t you feel it,” he said making sure that the suit was really moving away.
“Oh,” she shivering.
Yeah it was like a laser beam was hitting him between the shoulder blades. Okay time to get her out of sight and the line of fire. “Get your ass back here McLean,” he said opening the gate. She started to move toward him when a motion to the right caught his gaze. She froze at the same time and he knew they were in sync. “About that advice. The rifle pulls a little to the left.” he said and spun toward the sailor with the gun in his hand.
~
Cassie didn’t need any other warning. Her early warning your about to be shot instincts going red hot she feinted a little to the right a second before the back of the booth was shot to peiced right where her head had been. Spinning she caught one of the Sailors with a round house making let out an oof and jump to the side, catching him off guard. The sneaky SOB had almost got the drop on her. He retaliated by b backhanding her seeing her reeling into the booth. She saw stars and fell to the floor just as Dylan swear and saw him leap over the booth losing his cool completley. Couldn’t be she thought as darkness claimed her he never got mad, he never cared about anything.
“Come on Precious, wake up,” Dylan said.
She felt his hand brushing her hair out of her face, smelled his singular sandalwood, leather, and man scent as he held her and opened her eyes. Now she knew she was dreaming. The relief in Dylan’s whiskey brown eyes stunned her. “What happened?”
“Welcome to the war on terror, partner,” he said gravely.
“Holy cats playing canasta,” she said looking up at him.
He smirked, “Indeed.”
“Did you say partner?” she asked stunned. Vaguely aware of what looked like Delta Star EMS carting away the Sailors and working in the background.
He nodded, bending closer shutting out the world. “How about we seal it with a kiss?”
Then Dylan’s mouth claimed hers and she groaned kissing him back, knowing this was just the beginning.

"Stranger at My Door"
[A Murder in Texas Series, Book 1] by Mari Manning
Author's Book Description :

The only thing standing between her and disaster is a man she can’t trust…

and

both

This book is available to order on :

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

"On Her Six"
[Under Covers Series, Book 1] by Christina Elle
Author's Book Description :

First rule of stake-outs – don’t fall in love.

This book is available to order on :

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

"Betting the Billionaire"
by Avery Flynn
Author's Book Description :

"Bound to Serve"
[Dangerous Liaisons Series, Book 1] by Julie Castle
Author's Book Description :

"Untrue Colors"
[True Lies Series, Book 1] by Veronica Forand
Author's Book Description :

She’s on the run…

About the Authors :

Mari Manning is the author of several contemporary romances and three romantic suspense novels set in the Texas Hill Country. "Stranger at My Door" is the first in her A Murder in Teas series. The second, "Stranger in My House" debuted June 13. The third book in the series is "Stranger in My Bed." Currently Mari is working on a series of cozy mysteries.

She and her husband live in Chicago.

Christina Elle believes that laughter really is the best medicine, which is why in her stories she blends a healthy dose of hilarious hijinks with gritty suspense.

When she’s not writing fun contemporary romance or quirky romantic suspense, Christina can be found devouring books in every genre, watching Chris Hemsworth on TV, playing board games with her family, working out, checking out Chris Hemsworth on Facebook, napping, stalking Chris Hemsworth on Instagram, and shopping…for Chris Hemsworth’s latest DVD.

Christina lives near Baltimore with her husband and two sons, who give her an endless supply of humorous material to write about.

She is a member of Romance Writers of America and Maryland Romance Writers.

Award-winning romance author Avery Flynn has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip.

She fell in love with romance while reading Johanna Lindsey’s Mallory books. It wasn’t long before Avery had read through all the romance offerings at her local library. Needing a romance fix, she turned to Harlequin’s four books a month home delivery service to ease the withdrawal symptoms. That worked for a short time, but it wasn’t long before the local book stores’ staffs knew her by name.

Avery was a reader before she was a writer and hopes to always be both. She loves to write about smartass alpha heroes who are as good with a quip as they are with their *ahem* other God-given talents. Her heroines are feisty, fierce and fantastic. Brainy and brave, these ladies know how to stand on their own two feet and knock the bad guys off theirs.

Julie Castle always had a love affair with the written word. As a child growing up in a small town Julie loved visiting the local library, a converted gilded age mansion, and getting lost between the pages of a book. The drafty old mansion could be a spooky place but she still loved it. Julie enjoyed poking into behind the scenes areas she wasn't supposed to venture into. She is still the same way which is why she loves writing romance with an edge, paranormal, suspenseful, super sexy, or just laugh your pants off funny which she hopes you'll find it in her books.

A Bostonian by birth, Veronica Forand regrettably lost her Boston accent while moving from state to state and country to country. Cleveland probably had the most profound effect on her ability to pronounce the “r” in the word “park.”

She does try to return now and then to visit family and eat long neck clams and lobster. Summers on Cape Cod are also high on the priority list.

Her experience in crime involves time as a court appointed attorney. Eventually, she switched fields to where bigger crimes take place, corporate tax. The allure of spending mornings in her pajamas homeschooling her children and writing fascinating fiction caused her to change careers again. Now that the kids are out of the house (in school), she writes novels and practices law by day and is the perfect wife and mother at night.

Her experience in romance is limited to one man. Luckily, he’s still finding ways to charm her by taking her on vacations to the south of France, Fiji, and the Green Mountains when time is short. Avid travelers, they love to roam with their kids across continents in pursuit of skiing, scuba diving, and the perfect piece of chocolate.

She’s lived in London, Paris, Geneva, Washington D.C., and the accent destroying city of Cleveland. She currently resides near Philadelphia.

Her books are published by Entangled Publishing, Boroughs Publishing Group, and The Wild Rose Press.

My Previous Review(s) for Veronica Forand : Flirting on Ice

My Previous Mention(s) of Veronica Forand's Books/Characters : Teaser Tuesday: Flirting on Ice | Best Book Couples -- Happy Valentine's Day 2015

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Monday, September 5, 2016

Blog Tour - Moonbeams of Unintended Consequences by Muffy Wilson | Spreading the Word & Kindle Fire or $100 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway

Thursday, August 2, 2012

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

Monday, September 5, 2016

Blog Tour - Prodigal by Jody Wallace | Interview, Spreading the Word, & Critter Prize Pack Giveaway

Sunday, August 7, 2016

Entangled Ignite & Select Suspense Shooting Gallery Booth at Entangled Publishing's Summer Carnival | Blog Tour, Guest Post, Spreading the Word & GC Giveaway