Carnal series, book 4 & Prequel to Carnal Whispers, book 3
by Reily Garrett
by Reily Garrett
Showing posts sorted by date for query pocket books. Sort by relevance Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by date for query pocket books. Sort by relevance Show all posts
Friday, January 27, 2017
Blog Tour - Carnal Obsession & Bending Fate by Reily Garrett | Spreading the Word & GC #Giveaway
Monday, January 9, 2017
Idolizing In: The Governess Series, Book 2
- This is an ARC book - Available Formats through Amazon: Kindle Edition - File Size: 2146 KB | Expected Release Date: October 10, 2016 | Publisher: Simon & Schuster : Gallery Books : Pocket Star | Obtained: NetGalley"The Governess Was Wanton" [The Governess Series, Book 2] by Julia Kelly
Author's Book Description : This delightfully charming and saucy historical romance series features three best friends, employed as governesses for different families, who all find themselves wanting something they can’t have.
Mary Woodward, a young veteran governess, has one job: guiding a young debutante through her first season in high society. And up until now, keeping her focus and avoiding temptation has been easy. But never before has the father of her young charge been as devilishly handsome as the single, wealthy Earl of Asten…. Convinced to risk it all, Mary let’s herself enjoy one night of magic at a masked ball in Asten’s arms, but will they both regret everything when the Earl learns her true identity?
My Book Review : 5 out of 5 stars!!! When Mary starts her latest job as the governess to the Earl of Asten's only daughter, she finds her world tilted of its axis by the Earl (Eric) himself. He's handsome, smart, and kind with a roguish streak the only seems to come out around her. They try to maintain distance between them but the night of the masquerade ball the distance becomes obsolete but only Mary knows the truth. Will Mary & Eric be able to have more than stolen moments together or will their ranks keep them separated forever?This novel enamored me from the very beginning!! The illicit situation that brews between Mary & Eric is sweet and all consuming; it had me wanting their story to be never-ending. All the characters were entertaining in their own right making this Cinderella-ish novel so fun to read!
Yet, what captured me was Mary & Eric. The intense connection they shared was thrilling to read about while charming in a way that wish I could've read about more (like in an epilogue). They were perfect for one another. And how Mary just seemed to fit into Eric and his daughter's lives was so seamless that it only took putting down "the rival" to make everything work for them. 💖
This is one of my favorites so I definitely recommend it to those looking for a slightly erotic historical romance!!!
Purchase This Book and/or The Other Books From It's Series Here : Amazon (Kindle) USD : The Governess Was Wicked (Book 1) | Amazon (Kindle) USD : The Governess Was Wild (Book 3)
Authors' Novel Extras : The Governess Was Wanton Is Out Today! | The Language of Flowers
Authors' Series Extras : The Governess Series - Overview | The Governess Problem | The Governess Was Wild Is Out Now! | Writing to Music
Book Teaser(s) :
"Thank you."
She started in surprise. "Whatever for?"
"Whatever it was you said to Eleanora to make her agree to come to this ball and all of the parties since you spoke to her. I don't know what you did, but she's beginning to act more like herself than she has in a long time. What's your secret?"
She laughed. "If I told you, you wouldn't need me anymore."
"I wouldn't say that." His eyes darkened as he said it---or did she just imagine it? Either way, something sparked deep inside of her, and for one crazy moment all she wanted to do was grip the man by his loose collar and drag his lips to her. ~ within Chapter 6
"You're playing with fire," he said.
Her eyes flicked up to his and a wicked smile touched her lips. "Set me alight, Eric." ~ within Chapter 10
Book Preview(s) :
For more information on this book, series, and/or any other books by Julia, then please check out her Amazon Acct.
Thursday, September 29, 2016
Blog Tour - Say it Louder by Heidi Joy Tretheway | Release Day Launch, Spreading the Word & ARC Novel Giveaway
One band. Five love stories. Too many secrets.
We’ve been waiting a long time to find out how the band Tattoo Thief will deal with drummer Dave’s toxic ex—and the secrets she’s been collecting on everyone. It was worth the wait.
You don’t have to be a fan of the series to love a book that starts fast with a huge wow moment and then unpacks the band’s secrets. In fact, you don’t have to read the earlier books because each book is a different love story about a different member of the band.
About Say it Louder:
I had a choice—dump my toxic girlfriend, or break up my band.
It should have been easy. But she’s been collecting dirt on all of us for years.
Just when I think I’ve hit rock bottom, a pink-haired street artist rocks my world. They call Willa “the Parking Lot Picasso.” I call her my refuge, my center, my last reason to hope.
When Willa’s life on the streets collides with a sudden spotlight on her art, I’ll stop at nothing to protect her. But when the spotlight turns on my secret shame, she might be my only salvation.
Grab your copy today:
Amazon ebook | iBooks | Kobo | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | Paperback
Get the first book in the Tattoo Thief series free (on iBooks, Amazon, Nook or Kobo), or dive in to Say it Louder by downloading a free extended sample for Kindle or all other devices. Check out this excerpt, and then enter the Rafflecopter giveaway to win a signed paperback and special swag.
Quiet noises in Willa’s apartment wake me hours later. Soft footfalls. The rustling of fabric and clink of metal. I open my eyes to the dim city light that filters through Willa’s curtainless windows.
She’s a shadow across the room.
I stir and her head snaps up, eyes glinting. Her shoulders stiffen, as if I’ve caught her doing something wrong.
I sit up. She’s swapped her jeans for black leggings and her T-shirt for a long-sleeved dark shirt. Her black messenger bag bulges on her hip.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.” She moves to a shelf and stuffs something in the messenger bag.
“You look like you’re going to break in somewhere.”
She tilts up her chin, a challenge. “Maybe I am.”
I’m on my feet in an instant, moving between her and the door. “What? You can’t just go out and wander the streets and break in places.”
She huffs, her eyes hardening when I block her exit. “I can do anything I want. You wanted a place to stay. So stay. But don’t tell me what I can or can’t do.”
Willa moves to get around me but I shift to the side, and suddenly we’re chest to chest. Another staredown.
This time, our faces are inches apart. Our staring contest crackles with the electricity of our physical touch.
“Move,” she whispers.
My lips curl into a faint smile. “No.”
Willa scowls and shoves her body closer to the door, closer to me. I rest my hand lightly on her hip, so as she moves, I move. Like we’re dancing.
Her fist clenches the material of my dark gray shirt. “I said, move.”
Her demand is a hiss and I smell her breath, sweet and hot, cinnamon and clove. My eyes drop to her lips, and I want my mouth there. I need to taste her.
Her eyes darken, pupils dilating as I tip my chin slightly, moving closer. But before I can connect with that ripe mouth, she shoves my chest—hard.
“Wrong move, Dave.” She spins and grabs the door handle and she’s down a flight of stairs before I can pick my jaw up off the floor, shove my feet in my shoes, and follow her.
I don’t know why I follow, I just do. Acting on instinct, rather than from the million calculations that usually drive me.
Normally, I think with my head. I weigh the logic in any situation. But Willa defies logic. She’s like a force of nature, thunder and lightning, impossible to control.
I race after her, down four flights, hustling to catch up as she pushes out of her building and onto the sidewalk.
“Willa. Would you wait up for me?”
She flings a glance over her shoulder. “This can’t wait.” She doesn’t slow down, but she doesn’t speed up, either.
“What are you doing—really?” I hustle after her and pull my phone from my pocket to check the time. 1:18 a.m. Unless she’s going bar-hopping, there aren’t a lot of legal activities available right now.
Willa snatches the phone from my hand, and that jolt of electricity is back. She powers off my phone without asking. “First rule: keep up. Second rule: put this away. If it lights up or rings at the wrong time, we’re screwed.”
She hands the phone back and I pocket it. “What’s the third rule?”
“Do what I tell you, ask questions later.”
She’s a shadow across the room.
I stir and her head snaps up, eyes glinting. Her shoulders stiffen, as if I’ve caught her doing something wrong.
I sit up. She’s swapped her jeans for black leggings and her T-shirt for a long-sleeved dark shirt. Her black messenger bag bulges on her hip.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.” She moves to a shelf and stuffs something in the messenger bag.
“You look like you’re going to break in somewhere.”
She tilts up her chin, a challenge. “Maybe I am.”
I’m on my feet in an instant, moving between her and the door. “What? You can’t just go out and wander the streets and break in places.”
She huffs, her eyes hardening when I block her exit. “I can do anything I want. You wanted a place to stay. So stay. But don’t tell me what I can or can’t do.”
Willa moves to get around me but I shift to the side, and suddenly we’re chest to chest. Another staredown.
This time, our faces are inches apart. Our staring contest crackles with the electricity of our physical touch.
“Move,” she whispers.
My lips curl into a faint smile. “No.”
Willa scowls and shoves her body closer to the door, closer to me. I rest my hand lightly on her hip, so as she moves, I move. Like we’re dancing.
Her fist clenches the material of my dark gray shirt. “I said, move.”
Her demand is a hiss and I smell her breath, sweet and hot, cinnamon and clove. My eyes drop to her lips, and I want my mouth there. I need to taste her.
Her eyes darken, pupils dilating as I tip my chin slightly, moving closer. But before I can connect with that ripe mouth, she shoves my chest—hard.
“Wrong move, Dave.” She spins and grabs the door handle and she’s down a flight of stairs before I can pick my jaw up off the floor, shove my feet in my shoes, and follow her.
I don’t know why I follow, I just do. Acting on instinct, rather than from the million calculations that usually drive me.
Normally, I think with my head. I weigh the logic in any situation. But Willa defies logic. She’s like a force of nature, thunder and lightning, impossible to control.
I race after her, down four flights, hustling to catch up as she pushes out of her building and onto the sidewalk.
“Willa. Would you wait up for me?”
She flings a glance over her shoulder. “This can’t wait.” She doesn’t slow down, but she doesn’t speed up, either.
“What are you doing—really?” I hustle after her and pull my phone from my pocket to check the time. 1:18 a.m. Unless she’s going bar-hopping, there aren’t a lot of legal activities available right now.
Willa snatches the phone from my hand, and that jolt of electricity is back. She powers off my phone without asking. “First rule: keep up. Second rule: put this away. If it lights up or rings at the wrong time, we’re screwed.”
She hands the phone back and I pocket it. “What’s the third rule?”
“Do what I tell you, ask questions later.”
About Heidi Joy Tretheway:
Heidi Joy Tretheway is a sucker for campfires, craft cocktails, and steamy romance in books and real life. She sings along with musicals (badly), craves French carbs, and buys plane tickets the way some women buy shoes.
Her first career as a journalist took Heidi behind the scenes with politicians, rock stars, and chefs, all of whom inspire her stories. Heidi Joy is currently working on her tenth book from her home in southwestern Washington.
Connect with Heidi:
- Website: heidijoytretheway.com
- Facebook.com/author.heidi
- Amazon.com/author/heidi
- Goodreads.com/heidi.tretheway
- Twitter.com/heiditretheway
- BN: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/heidi-joy-tretheway
- Newsletter signup: tinyurl.com/heidisbooks
Enter Heidi’s Giveaway:
a Rafflecopter giveaway
My Previous Review(s) for this Author : Tattoo Thief
My Previous Mention(s) of this Author's Books/Characters : Blog Tour - Feasted On: Tattoo Thief by Heidi Joy Tretheway | Review & Giveaway | Best Book Couples -- Happy Valentine's Day 2014
Thursday, September 8, 2016
Blog Tour - Dance or Die by Liza O’Connor | Spreading the Word
DANCE OR DIE
Book 3 of The White Oak-Mafia series
by Liza O'Connor
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.
[Maelstrom Chronicles, Book 3] by Jody Wallace
Author's Book Description :
- He nearly destroyed the world, but with her help, he can save it.
Adam Alsing—at least that’s what they tell him his name is—has no idea who he is or why he’s huddled naked in the snow next to a mysterious silver pod. When a gorgeous, no-nonsense sheriff by the name of Claire Lawson rescues him, she explains the planet’s under attack—and he’s been missing for over two years. The problem is, what he doesn’t remember can kill them.
Keeping the peace in her post-apocalyptic town is all the trouble Sheriff Claire Lawson can handle. Until the MIA Chosen One—the guy who could have prevented the apocalypse—interrupts her supply run. The Shipborn aliens want to study him, and what’s left of the Terran government wants to lock him up. But his charming demeanor and his desire to help, along with his sexy smile, has Claire fighting her better judgment to keep Adam around. For now.
This book is available to order on :
** 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) :
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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Tuesday, August 2, 2016
Entangled Indulgence High Striker Booth at Entangled Publishing's Summer Carnival | Blog Tour, Guest Post, Spreading the Word & GC Giveaway
Welcome to the Indulgence High Striker Booth! Indulgence is all about rich and powerful alpha heroes, so who better to conquer the high striker than our amazing Indulgence authors?! Sherilee Gray, Carmen Falcone, Miranda Liasson, Alexia Adams, Robin Covington, and Naima Simone each wrote an original scene featuring new or existing characters and the high striker at a summer carnival. We hope you enjoy them, and don’t forget to enter the giveaway below! [Blog Tour will run from August 2 – 14, 2016 & Giveaway will run until August 15, 2016]
“Earth to Sarah?”Sarah tore her eyes away from the nauseating sight of her ex all but eating his new girlfriend’s face off, and turned back to Kate, who was waving the mallet handle in front of her face.
“It’s your turn.”
“Why are we doing this again?”
“To release some of that psychotic rage boiling inside you.”
“I’m fine.” Sarah looked back at the spectacle on the other side of the fairground. Yep, David was still kissing that evil cow he’d cheated with, the same girl who had bullied and tormented her mercilessly in high school. Okay, so maybe there was a little rage.
She grabbed the mallet out of her friends hand and walked up to the High Striker, imagining David’s face staring up at her. Oh yeah, she was going to smash that smarmy, lying, cheating face. Lifting the mallet over her head, she gritted her teeth, and with a growl, smashed it down with every bit of her strength. The mallet wasn’t that heavy, and when it bounced back, it sort of just… slipped from her fingers, sailing high over her shoulder.
Spinning around, she watched in horror as it headed straight for a group of people gathered by the hotdog stand. She opened her mouth to call a warning…
A hand shot out of nowhere, snatching the mallet out of the air.
Sarah sagged in relief as her gaze travelled to the owner of that hand—to the suit clad, extremely broad, insanely tall body it was attached to—then higher.
Holy Mary mother of God.
He was gorgeous. She swallowed hard, frozen in place when dark-as-night eyes locked on hers. Then he started walking, no, prowling toward her.
Stopping in front of her, he held out the mallet. “Yours I believe?”
She nodded like a bobble head, unable to take her eyes off him, or make her freaking mouth work. The man wasn’t just good looking, he was beautiful, but in an uber manly, Jason Momoa—if Jason Momoa had short hair and shaved—kind of way.
His mouth curled up, eyes traveling over her face, lingering on her lips. He tilted his head to the side, to where her ex-boyfriend had been standing a short time ago. “He didn’t deserve you.”
“I-I know.” Words!
He grinned. “How about you and I give him a taste of his own medicine?”
“Oh, so close.” Violet Harrison made the appropriate aaw shucks noises as the guy in a black leather jacket, white T-shirt, dark blue, cuffed jeans, and Danny Zuko gelled pompadour handed her a wooden-handled mallet. “For two dollars, you can have three more tries.”“Danny” glanced up at the High Striker with its blinking bulbs and bell sitting at the top of the sixteen foot tower. The bell he hadn’t managed to ring with six swings of the mallet. Much to the chagrin of the “Sandy” that hung by his side, who eyed the rack of stuffed animals beside Vi with avarice, her teased blonde hair practically quivering in irritation.
“No. I’ll pass.”
“Next time then.” Vi smiled. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
He nodded, wrapped his arm around his girlfriend and strode off. Probably to try his luck—and prove his strength and manhood—at the ducks shooting gallery. Turning, she quickly deposited the four dollars in the chained, metal cash box.
Sue her, but she loved this time of year. Every June, the Andreas Corporation, the company she created marketing campaigns for, hosted its annual summer carnival fundraiser. Each year the theme changed; this time it was Grease. Which, Vi supposed, was an improvement over last summer’s Circus Freaks theme. The fairgrounds had been full of bearded ladies, conjoined twins, and half men-half beasts. The screams of terrified younger children still assaulted her ears. She grinned, twisting the lock on the cash box. Epic fail. Funny as hell, though.
“Hello, Violet.”
Vi froze, one hand stuffed into the black apron around her waist that contained carnival tickets. Silently, she bit off a curse. She didn’t need to turn around to identify who stood behind her. And it wasn’t because he was the only person, besides her mother, who insisted on calling her by her full name. No, even if he’d called her “Vi” like everyone else, his voice would’ve been a dead giveaway.
That dark, honeyed, I-can-corrupt-you-and-make-you-like-it voice. That voice was gluttony, greed, and lust given syllables and sound. Satan assuredly possessed that silken, tempter’s voice.
Which was apropos given Leo Andreas was the devil incarnate.
Slowly, she turned around. And met the golden, hazel eyes that reminded her of the animal that shared his name. That lion’s stare studied her from the top of her curly, auburn beehive, down her throat and double strand of pearls, over her white shirt, grey jacket and straight A-line skirt, and lower to the sturdy black pumps.
“Nice outfit.” He arched a dark blond eyebrow, and she fought the urge to find out if the damn thing was detachable. But ripping off the facial hair of one’s employer was, at best, frowned upon. At worse, cause to be fired. Or have criminal charges filed against her.
But as her best friend’s older brother, Leo—with his hated eyebrow arch—had been tormenting her for years. Surely a jury of her peers would understand and sympathize with her.
“What?” She shrugged. “Everyone can’t be Frenchy or Rizzo or bad girl Sandy. Besides, there wouldn’t have been a Rydell High without Principal McGee.”
Deliberately, she treated him to the same visual inspection. Loose, golden waves that framed his stark cheekbones, almost too lush mouth, and hard, uncompromising jaw. A white, short-sleeved, V-neck shirt and black pants clothed a wide set of shoulders, solid chest, lean waist, and long, muscled legs. A dull, insistent, inconvenient pulse of heat throbbed low in her belly. Just once it would be nice if she could look at him without her heart stuttering or that damn lust playing Twister with her insides.
Just once it would be nice if she could be as immune to him as he obviously was to her.
“So what’re you doing over here? Lost?” With exaggerated movements, she glanced from side to side and around him. “I don’t see one of your usual brainiac supermodels hanging around, so you can’t be here to flex and test your strength.”
He stepped forward. Then closer. And closer still. Until mere inches of air separated their chests and thighs. “How much?” he murmured, leaning over and effortlessly plucking the mallet off the stand.
“Three swings for two dollars.” Move back, damn it, her mind screamed. But shock and the intoxicating, woodsy scent of his aftershave glued her feet to the ground. “One hit gets you a prize.”
“Is that all?”
She snorted, thankful she could still sound unaffected when she was anything but…unaffected. “You have to do it first, sport. Men are always bragging about how they can ring the bell. Any bell for that matter. Yawn.”
That lion’s gaze dropped to her mouth. She sucked in a breath, that pulse of heat between her legs flickering into a dancing flame.
“This mouth is trouble. I’ve told you that often enough over the years,” he said, his low, sin-and-sex voice deepening. His thumb brushed across her bottom lip in a firm caress that had her fighting not to nip his finger. Not to finally have a taste of his skin on her tongue. “I’ve also imagined doing a lot of things to teach it a lesson.”
What the…
She blinked. A backdraft of lust swirled through her with the power of a windstorm, blowing away all conscious thought except for two words: Teach. Me.
“So that’s my prize when I win your game.” When, she noted. Not if. His hand dropped from her face, but his gaze lifted to hers, trapping her. Refusing to release her. “A lesson for every strike I make. Do you agree?”
Do I agree? Do I look crazy?
Hell no.
“Yes.”
“A carnival party. Is this a joke?” Henri Fortier hissed out. Even if he had screamed, he doubted anyone would hear him. Sounds from machinery grinding and spinning blended with guests laughing and yelling. And the smell of popcorn and hot dogs assaulted his senses. Henri blinked at the flashy colors. Earlier that day, he’d been on his yacht in the French Riviera. Now he marched into the spacious gardens of the Californian mansion he once coveted. Well, still coveted. The one the she-devil Olivia Greystone didn’t want to sell, but would have to if her mountains of debt were anything to go by.
Merde. When he’d told her father on his deathbed he’d watch over Olivia, he had been a sentimental fool—two adjectives none of his close friends would use to describe him.
He passed the cotton candy stand, scanning the area. It must have cost a fortune to bring the jugglers who kept a small crowd hypnotized. People lined up to take a turn on the small Ferris Wheel. He’d seen Vegas Casinos less overwhelming. He kept skimming the area until his gaze found her.
Olivia.
He swallowed. Hard. His entire body halted, even his heart skipped a beat or two.
Smooth waves of blonde hair fell down her strapless red dress. She talked to someone, and he admired her curvy figure and kissable ass for one sinful second. Curling and uncurling his fingers, he sucked in a breath and erased the distance between them.
She laughed. He’d always hated how good her infectious chuckle made him feel. Then she held a glittery hammer and pounded it down the base. The red arrow shot on the sale, but it didn’t get close to the top. Olivia’s life was in shambles and she chose to play higher strike? Was she crazier than he imagined?
“Olivia,” he called her. “I’m glad you find this funny.”
She turned to him with a close-lipped smile. Her eyes still held the azure spark he remembered. “Henri.” She gave the hammer to the attendant, and smoothed her hands over her dress.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” he said. When was the last time he’d dealt with her in person? One, two years?
“No, I’m not.”
Henri nodded. Someone else grabbed the hammer and slammed the base, bringing a small group of friends into a frenzied cheer. He didn’t move, his eyes on hers, his spine locked into place. “What’s your angle this time, Olivia? Besides throwing this ridiculous party and having Jessica email me?” Besides wasting away the remaining dollars your father left. Mon Dieu I did a terrible job watching her like he asked. Instead, I avoided her. And let her destroy her fortune.
“I have a proposition for you.”
“What makes you think I’ll agree?”
She licked her lips. “Wanna bet?
Jessa raised the hammer high above her head. Other carnival goers laughed and screamed their excitement, oblivious to the fact that her life had become collateral damage.She slammed the mallet on the plate. Thanks for destroying everything, Dad. The ringer on the High Striker game didn’t even go halfway up the scale.
“Sorry, miss,” the carnie said. “For two dollars more I’ll give you another shot.”
“Please aunty, I know I can hit it,” Tyson, her six-year-old nephew, pipped up before she could answer. “I was so close before.”
Jessa shoved her hand into her pocket, not sure she had another two dollars.
“Allow me,” a deep masculine voice said from behind her. Two words, spoken in an accent she couldn’t identify, and her ovaries went into hyper drive. Just what she needed on the day her life fell apart, to be attracted to some nut job at the fair. He reached around her and handed the game’s attendant a bill that sure as hell looked more like a hundred than a two.
She swiveled around but even with her high heels she had to look up, way up, into the face of their benefactor. His turquoise eyes returned her gaze with an intensity that made her want to take a step back. Except Jessa Carmichael never backed down from a challenge.
And what a challenge. In addition to his incredible eyes, his square jaw was covered in light stubble matching his jet-black hair. But his lips were the highlight of his face. They were currently quirked up in a sardonic smile but she was pretty sure there was a better use for them—like trailing kisses from her ear down her neck and into the valley between her breasts.
Sucking in a lungful of air to quell the rising heat, she was about to thank him when his gaze dropped to her chest. The lips she’d admired a second ago parted as if he were about to take up the invitation her eyes had undoubtedly broadcast.
“Thanks, mister,” Tyson said as he pulled the hammer from Jessa’s hands. Kids, right, probably not the best time to be mesmerized by a pair of lips and amazing eyes, not to mention a chest broad enough to hold a place setting for two that included a salad fork and butter knife.
“I…” Jessa began but Mr. Sexy Lips put his hand on her arm. Desire shot from where he touched her to pool between her thighs.
Get a grip, girl, he’s probably a Fed here to interrogate you. But no government worker she’d ever met wore an Ermenegildo Zegna shirt and sported a watch that cost more than a family car.
Tyson swung the hammer and the ringer shot up and struck the bell, setting off a winner’s alarm. Her nephew danced, whopped with joy, and then launched himself at her. Not to be left out of the celebration, his twin sister Emily hugged her as well. God, she’d do anything to protect these two from the shit storm about to ravage her family.
While Tyson chose his prize with Emily’s assistance, Jessa turned to the mystery man who had paid for the extra game to thank him. His gaze caressed her face and she forgot how to use her tongue.
“Aunty Jessa, look what I got for Mummy. Now she won’t be sad.” Tyson showed her a giant panda bear, almost as big as he was. It wasn’t likely that a stuffed toy would make up for Tyson’s father and grandfather being arrested and all the family’s assets frozen pending an investigation by the SEC.
“That’s great, sweetie. Why don’t we take it to her right now?” Jessa’s feet were killing her, she was out of money, and the man standing two feet away made her want to run—or throw herself in his arms—she wasn’t sure which.
Tyson seemed torn between wanting to stay longer at the carnival and going home to cheer up his mother. While he wrestled with the impossible decision, Jessa sneaked a peek at the tower of masculinity who stood with his arms across his chest. Strong arms, his muscles bulging under the shirt he wore, the sleeves of which he’d rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with dark hair. Against her will, her eyes checked for a ring on his left hand. Bare. At least she hadn’t been lusting after a married man.
“Thank you for paying…and whatever else you did…” The game hadn’t suddenly become easier to play by accident.
He uncrossed his arms, lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. Who did that these days? Was she hallucinating from all the recent stress? No, the touch of his lips on her skin, the way his eyes caressed her fractured soul, were definitely real. And thrilling.
“You can thank me properly later,” he said. His voice vibrated against her skin, sending tingles up her arm, along her side, eventually rippling the pool of desire building with each second he stood close.
“Later? I don’t even know your name.”
“Milan Rakitić. But as of next week, you may call me ‘husband’ or ‘my love’, either works for me.”
Before she could respond, he turned and strode away.
“Hey big guy. You wanna try to ring my bell for charity?”Bear Holt paused, looking over his shoulder when the hot girl manning the High Striker game pointed her finger at him and crooked in the universal sign for “get your ass over here”. She couldn’t mean him. All week his MC club had been in this little town just west of nowhere Oklahoma and no one had given them the time of day.
They’d given them a wide berth but that was whole different story.
But right now, this little slip of girl dressed in the latest style from some catalog that catered to the “country club and G&T” crowd was looking right at him with a smile that was…wicked. Damn. He resisted the urge to reach down and adjust his dick, a move that would get the steely-eyed matrons manning the “guess my age” booth over here with shotguns and pitchforks.
“What’s the matter? You don’t think you can do it?” the young woman asked, her eyes traveling up and down his six foot five-inch frame. She knew he could do it, he was built like a tank. She was…flirting with him.
Never a big enough idiot to pass up an invitation when he saw it, Bear eased away from his friends and through the crowd to stand in front of her.
“Do I look like I can’t ring your bell?” He teased, liking the way her skin flushed a bit at his words. What he loved was the little catch in her breathing when he smiled down at her.
Damn. She was so pretty. Short and curvy with dark brown hair, green eyes and a few, delicious freckles scattered across her nose. He wanted to lean down and kiss her and see if she tasted as sweet as she looked.
“I know you can,” she laughed, running her tongue along her bottom lip. “I thought so when I saw you at the diner the other night.”
“Huh?” He took a step back, as if the action would clear up his confusion.
“In the diner. With your friends.” She cocked her head at him, squinting as she tried to think up something to trigger his memory. “I was wearing my scrubs from work.”
Oh yeah. He remembered her. He’d taken one look at her across the small restaurant and been unable to stop staring. His friends had given him all kinds of shit for it but he didn’t care. Not when she’d looked back. An ill-timed phone call and she’d been gone when he returned. He’d been left with nothing but a cup of lukewarm coffee and disappointment.
“You left without saying goodbye,” he said.
“I said hello now,” she answered.
“Yes. You did.” He looked up the tall game, gauging just how far up the bell was and how hard he’d have to hit it. He could do it. No problem. Bear returned his gaze to his little nurse. “You wanna tell me your name before I ring your bell?”
She smiled, really just a teasing twist of her lips as she pretended to think about his request. He liked that about her, she was fun. She probably laughed a lot and he needed more of that in his life. “It’s Leighanne. Leighanne Colson.”
He liked her name too.
“Okay Leighanne, how much?” He pulled out his wallet.
“A dollar per swing…” she paused when he handed over a ten-dollar bill. “You think you’re going to need ten swings?”
“Nope. I’ll get it in one, the rest is for a kiss,” Bear grabbed the handle of the large hammer, testing the weight as he rolled his shoulders in preparation.
“A kiss? The kissing booth is just beyond the cotton candy booth,” Leighanne said as she slid the money into a pocket.
He shrugged. “It’s all for the charity, right? Once I ring your bell, let’s just pretend we’re in the kissing booth.”
“That’s not how it works,” she said, her tone sounding more “yes, please” than “hell, no”.
“It does now.” He didn’t wait for her agreement, he could see it in her eyes. She’d called him over for a reason and he wasn’t going to waste this chance. Bear heaved up the hammer and positioned his body behind the game, rolling his shoulders to loosen up the muscles. Taking a couple of experimental swings, he took a deep breath and brought the hammer down on the pad and watched as the metal piece flew up into the air and made loud, clanging contact with the brass bell at the top.
It was loud. So loud that people in the area jumped a little and then clapped, light laughter filling the air and mingling with the sounds of crowds and piped in country music. He nodded to those who congratulated him, setting down the hammer on the grass next to the game.
“I rang your bell,” Bear stated the obvious, sliding in close that she had to look up to make eye contact. He ventured out one hand, hooking a finger in one of her belt loops and pulling her just shy of full-body contact with him. She sucked in a quick breath and let it out, her breasts pressing against his chest, the contact causing him to shiver.
“You did.”
“I want to claim my prize.”
Her lips curled in a hint of smile as her fingertips brushed against his forearm. “Are you asking?”
“No. I’m not.”
He leaned down and took her mouth, all plans to be gentle forgotten when she opened to him immediately and he sunk into her wet heat. She tasted sweet, of mint gum and lemonade and of something he couldn’t imagine living without. Her tongue played with his own, her teeth taking as many opportunities as he did to add a hint of sharp need to their first kiss.
The first…but he somehow knew it wouldn’t be the last.
“But I want that one, Aunt Alexis.” The tow-headed little girl ran up to the carnival booth next to the High Striker game, where teddy bears in every color of the rainbow lined the wooden shelves.“Gabby, come back here,” Alex said, readjusting the popcorn and slushies Gabby had already conned her into buying. It wasn’t an easy task with her right arm in a cast.
Gabby had a thing for bunnies, so it wasn’t surprising she was staring, mesmerized, at a massive pink one, plump and plush, nearly as big as she was.
The employee behind the counter manning the game gave her a nod. He wore a red and white vertically striped shirt, black pants, and a straw hat and glasses. A bit nerdy, but he smiled kindly. Alex smiled back. “She loves bunnies,” she said apologetically, nudging Gabby by the shoulders and trying to steer her away.
There was no way she could play the High Striker game, no matter how much she might want to for Gabby, who just got out of the hospital last week after a month-long stay for heart surgery. She was okay, thank God, just underweight and weak. All the more reason for Alex to want to indulge and give her the time of her life at the annual Frugle employee picnic, where they’d set up an entire carnival for the employees and their families.
But right now, she had to get Gabby away from the striker game. Alex was only three weeks out from her wrist break. She’d gone jogging with a blind date. By the third mile, she was pretty winded, but keeping up appearances—until she tripped over a rock and went flying.
Yeah, she’ d broken her arm trying to impress Mr. Muscle, who didn’t even go into the ER with her. He’d dropped her off at the sliding doors.
That had been her dating luck lately.
Alex tugged gently at Gabby’s elbow, but the child suddenly seemed to grow roots. Being from a family of six, Alex was mostly unfazed. She knew the tricks of the trade. “Oh, look, Gabs, cotton candy next door! C’mon, let’s hurry before they sell out.”
“Step right up, gents,” Mr. High Striker Guy called out. “Try your hand at a game of strength for the lovely ladies.”
“Oh, no, please, it’s okay,” she said apologetically to the guy who was trying to attract customers, or trying to attract some guy who would help her out. But she didn’t want charity. “Really.”
“Please, please, please, Aunt Alex. Please.” Blue eyes the size of the local swimming pool pleaded. Alex sighed. It had been a mistake to allow Gabby to run over to the stuffed animals in the first place.
Distraction. Yes, that’s what she’d try. Gabby’s attention span was about the size of a dime anyway. Alex pointed across the way. “C’mon, let’s go play Go Fish. I hear they’re giving out real goldfish.” Yeah, her sister would certainly thank her if they brought one of those home. Or three. But still, if it took Gabby’s mind off the bunny…
The Striker guy was looking at her a little funny. He was looking at Gabby even more oddly. He pulled out his cell and made a call.
Okay, Striker Guy was giving her the creeps. “C’mon, Gabs. I’ll buy you some ice cream,” she bribed. She almost said Please she wanted out of there so badly. After all, she was running out of food bribes.
When Alex turned around, a man was standing in front of the game—her boss. Well, not exactly her boss, but the man she reported to every day, Colin Blakely. The VP of Frugle, a high-techie search-engine company that had hired her in the PR department a month ago. Except the CEO was a mystery—to just about everyone.
“Hey, Alex,” Colin said, glancing at the guy behind the counter and frowning.
“You know each other?” Striker Guy asked.
“Yeah,” Colin said. “Alex is the PR person we hired to give y—er, the CEO a new reputation. “
“Is that right?” Striker Guy said.
“Well, I’ve actually never met “The Boss,” Alex said, making little air quotes with her fingers.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll meet him soon,” Striker Guy said.
“I’m not so sure,” Alex said. “He’s very reclusive.”
“Maybe he’s just busy,” he said.
“There are a lot of rumors going around about him,” Alex said.
“Like what?” he asked.
“The three most talked about are agoraphobia, Asperger’s, and facial scarring.”
He laughed. “Well, I’ve heard he’s very social and quite handsome.”
She’d heard that too. And she actually knew the truth—Ryan Nichols’ wife and young daughter had died in a tragic car accident two years ago. The news had been magically extracted from all the major search engines, but she’d found it…in an plain old newspaper in the public library. The benefits of being a former librarian. He’d returned to work soon afterward but as a broken man. Someone who ran the company behind the scenes but never showed his face.
Striker Guy had a nice smile, even though his nerdy glasses obscured a lot of his face. “Colin, for God’s sakes, give it a try for the lady.”
He certainly was on familiar terms with the VP of the company.
“I twisted my shoulder playing baseball yesterday,” Colin said. “I think you’re going to have to come out here yourself.”
“Isn’t that against the rules?” Striker Guy asked.
“Funny, I thought you made the rules,” Colin said with a chuckle. More joking around.
What was going on here?
“Allow me to try.”
Striker Guy was suddenly standing next to her. Alex gasped despite herself because he was so…tall. She met his eyes—they were a warm brown behind the glasses, the awful nerdy glasses that he’d already pushed up with his nose twice. Plus he smelled good, like expensive cologne, woodsy and spicy.
She didn’t have time to say no; Gabby was squealing with delight, egging him on, begging for him to smack the puck into oblivion.
He picked up the mallet and brought it down hard on the metal lever. And at that moment, Alex saw that Clark Kent had a bod. A gorgeous bod. Muscles rippled though his athletic shirt. His thighs flexed below his shorts hem. And oh, his legs. Lean, muscular, tanned. Clark had been hiding some impressive assets behind the counter, hadn’t he?
The puck shot up, but didn’t hit the top. He readjusted his shirt and his glasses, which had gone askew. Actually, he tore the glasses completely off and handed them to Alex. “Will you hold these?”
Alex blinked. Because the man had amazing eyes! Brown, stunning eyes, with dark wavy hair and golden skin, like he was Greek or Italian or something. She lost all words. Somehow, she managed to hold out her hand to retrieve the horrible glasses.
For a moment, he stared at her. The corner of his full mouth tipped up in the slightest smile. “I’m going to try again,” he said.
“Here you go, boss,” Colin said, handing him the mallet.
Boss? Colin was calling him boss? Alex glanced at Colin but he was focused on his friend, who was winding up to strike like he meant business.
“Go, Mr. Ryan, go!” Gabby said, clapping her little hands.
He gripped the mallet again, but he turned his attention to her. “What else do they say about—Mr. Nichols?”
“That it’s difficult to get into his inner circle. And the employees fear that it’s just as difficult for their concerns to get heard as well.” She paused for a moment.
“I review employee comments every day.”
“Me too, but no one is sure if Mr. Nichols does. Since no one sees him, no one is certain what exactly he does. And that misconception tends to stick.”
“What else?”
She shrugged. “That he keeps to himself. That he’s a fanatical exerciser. That he’s fussy with his food and he doesn’t date. Oh, and that he really is a recluse.”
“He’s not a recluse,” he said so low she almost didn’t hear. Clearly she’d hit a sore spot.
What a strange man. He focused that intense gaze on the striker surface, winding up and coming down hard on the metal thing with double his effort.
The puck shot up, the bell dinged.
“It rang! It rang!” Gabby shouted, throwing herself around the stranger’s knees.
Alex ran to peel her niece away, fearing that this he would be repelled by the impulsive display of affection. But he smiled. Reached down and patted Gabby’s head. Flashed her another one of those amazing smiles.
Colin went behind the counter and got the bunny, which Gabby immediately lunged for and held on to with all her might. It really was bigger than she was.
“Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Nichols,” Alex said. “I won’t forget it. Neither will Gabby.”
His brow raised at the mention of his name. “How did you know?”
She shrugged. “I used to be a librarian. I’m used to digging below the surface for things. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” She turned to collect Gabby and leave.
“Wait,” he said, touching her elbow. She swore she felt his touch into her shoulder, her chest, her stomach, everywhere.
“I’ve been hanging out here today, seeing if everyone was enjoying themselves. I didn’t mean to be deceptive. Forgive me.”
He was an odd one. But oh, those eyes were so soft and warm, so melted-chocolaty, and they were looking at her like she was ice cream. “Well, you did make one little girl really happy.”
“Let me make it up to you.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“No, I insist.”
“Okay, but I have…conditions.”
“Conditions?”
“Yes. I’d like to have a formal meeting with my employer.”
“Done. What else?”
“I need some help getting the rabbit in the car, considering I only have one arm.”
“No problem.”
“And one last request.”
“What’s that?”
“Will you win me that little blue teddy bear on the top shelf?” She smiled a little, so he’d know she was kidding.
“I’ll make you a deal. If I hit the bell again, you get the stuffed animal and I get a date.”
[Axle Alley Vipers Series, Book 3] by Sherilee Gray
Author's Book Description :
- He's driving her crazy...
Piper West is finally on her own, and it's time to get crazy. Except that her overprotective big bro has enlisted his ex-cop best friend to keep an eye on his baby sister. With every move monitored and reported back, Piper's life has gone from "going crazy" to "being driven crazy." But a searing-hot kiss with her sexy and scarred watchdog is just the game-changer she needs...
Cole Black owes Piper's brother big-time, but there's nothing easy about his new assignment. Piper is all feisty sexiness and curves meant to tempt a man beyond reason, and Cole can't stop himself. Now he's caught up in a hunger like nothing he's ever known, and he can't get enough...
Even if Piper's the one girl he's not allowed to have.
This book is available to order on :
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[Bachelor Auction Series, Book 2] by Naima Simone
Author's Book Description :
- He promised to stay away…but some promises are made to be broken.
Plain-Jane computer programmer Khloe Richardson needs a date—one to make the prince of her dreams jealous. Maybe then he’ll finally see her as a desirable swan and not the ugly duckling in the second office from the left.
But when she bids on a bachelor at a charity auction, the man she wins is millionaire Niall Hunter—who once made intense, passionate love to her and then left without a word. She’s determined not to let her guard down again—among other things—around the infamous Irish lothario.
Niall never imagined his penance for one hot-as-hell night with his best friend’s little sister would be transforming her from a shy wallflower to a sultry siren. Helping her attract another man is torture…especially when he promised his friend he’d stay away. Plus, she wants forever, and he’s not a forever kind of guy. But Niall can’t stop wanting her. Can’t stop touching her. Can’t stop, period. And damn if he can remember why he has to…
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[Time to Misbehave Series, Book 2] by Carmen Falcone
Author's Book Description :
- When fantasy becomes reality…
The last thing nanny Alice Sommers needs is to be caught skinny-dipping by her sexy, cranky-pants boss—in his pool. Her sister owes a crap-load of money to a slimy loan shark and Alice really needs this job if she has any hope of saving her family. Fortunately, her boss is richer than sin and needs her just as much.
Art dealer Lorenzo Baldi will lose his prestigious career if his anarchist father’s paintings are revealed to the art world. He’s determined to persuade the paintings’ eccentric owner to sell them to him, even if to pull it off, he’ll have to blackmail his daughter’s nanny—a woman with the sexy curves of a Botticelli masterpiece—into being his fake fiancé.
The gorgeous island of Capri inspires some major misbehaving. But even as the loan shark breathes down Alice’s neck and the paintings move closer to the art scene, Lorenzo drops one more bomb that will change everything.
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by Alexia Adams
Author's Book Description :
- She slipped aboard his yacht, but can he keep her out of his heart?
Egyptian heiress Rania Ghalli is desperate to free her political prisoner uncle before it’s too late. Hoping to make it to North Africa, she stows away on the yacht of Greek millionaire Demetri Christodoulou. But when Egyptian agents board the boat, she can either jump overboard…or claim she’s Demetri’s new bride.
Tired of being no more than the bastard disgrace to the Christodoulou name, Demetri intends to build a luxury resort below his grandfather’s house so the old man has no choice but to acknowledge that Demetri has made something of himself. But first, he needs a wife to complete the land purchase.
With Rania now at his mercy, a plan comes together. He’ll play along, protecting her and helping to free her uncle, but in exchange, he demands a real marriage. But keeping the vivacious heiress out of his heart will be a lot harder than keeping her on his ship…
This book is available to order on :
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[Boys are Back in Town Series, Book 2] by Robin Covington
Author's Book Description :
- Finalist in the short contemporary category of the Booksellers Best Awards!
Some women are bad. Some women are a bad idea. The best ones are both…
As a Black Ops assassin, “Lucky” Landon has had more than his fair share of close calls. Now he’s turned in his sniper rifle for the simple life of his small hometown. So the last thing he ever expected was to end up at gunpoint. Or that the woman holding the gun would be his best friend’s little sister and Lucky’s on-again/off-again lover.
Taylor Elliott is Trouble, and she likes it that way. And seeing Lucky again? Well, he’s been her dirty little secret for the past few years and everyone knows that secrets in a small town are almost impossible to keep. But Taylor has bigger problems on her plate. Like the local mob boss who wants her dead.
And right now the only thing standing between Trouble and disaster is a hottie named Lucky…
This book is available to order on :
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[Kingston Family Series, Book 1] by Miranda Liasson
Author's Book Description :
- When the other shoe drops, she’ll steal his heart…
Maddie Kingston just walked away from everything in order to take over her family’s struggling shoe business. And she’s in some serious trouble. The majority of the company’s shares have been bought out by none other than Maddie’s ex-boyfriend, self-made billionaire Nick Holter. Now Maddie needs his help…even if it means buying Nick from a charity bachelor auction.
After the Kingstons destroyed his grandfather’s career, Nick vowed to take over their company. He’s inches from victory when he finds himself bought and paid for…by his sexy ex-girlfriend who’s hell-bent on saving her family’s company. Between their families’ feud and their own unfinished business, tempers—and emotions—run hot. Too hot.
Because kissing with the enemy is a guaranteed shoe-in for trouble…
This book is available to order on :
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About the Authors :
Sherilee Gray’s always had a big (some may say warped) imagination, and as a kid scared herself conjuring up horror stories full of ghosts and other terrifying creatures. As she got older the stories changed quite a bit, but they were always there. Still, she never dreamed of actually writing down any of those wonderful imaginary people or places. Not until many years later when her sister introduced her to the wondrous world of romance novels, and her very large book collection.She’s pleased to say, she still has the big imagination… only now her characters are chasing their happily ever after.
Sherilee Gray is a kiwi girl and lives in beautiful New Zealand with her husband and their two children. When she isn't writing sexy, edgy contemporary romance or fueling her voracious book addiction, she can be found dreaming of far off places with a mug of tea in one hand and a bar of Cadburys Rocky Road chocolate in the other.
Naima Simone's love of romance was first stirred by Johanna Lindsey and Linda Howard many years ago. Though her first attempt at writing a romance novel at age 11 never saw the light of day, her love of romance and writing has endured. Now, she spends her time creating stories of unique men and women who experience the dizzying heights of passion and the tender heat of love.She is wife to Superman--or his non-Kryptonian, less bullet proof equivalent--and mother to the most awesome kids ever. They all live in perfect, domestically-challenged bliss in the southern United States.
Carmen Falcone learned at an early age that fantasizing about fictional characters beats doing math homework any day. Brazilian by birth and traveler by nature, she moved to Central Texas after college and met her broody Swiss husband—living proof that opposites attract. She found in writing her deepest passion and the best excuse to avoid the healthy lifestyle everyone keeps talking about. When she’s not lost in the world of romance, she enjoys spending time with her two kids, being walked by her three crazy pugs, reading, catching up with friends, and chatting with random people in the checkout line.
Alexia Adams used to travel the world, meeting new people, experiencing new sights and tastes. She’s lived in Canada, New Zealand, Australia, England, and France, as well as spending three months in Panama and two months in Russia. When life demanded that she stay rooted in one place, she took to vicarious voyages through the characters she created in her romance novels. Her stories reflect her love of travel and feature locations as diverse as the wind-swept prairies of Canada to the hot and humid jungles of Guyana.
A USAToday bestseller, Robin Covington loves to explore the theme of fooling around and falling in love in her books. Her stories burn up the sheets. . .one page at a time. When she's not writing she's collecting tasty man candy, indulging in a little comic book geek love, hoarding red nail polish and stalking Chris Evans.A 2016 RITA® Award nominee, Robin's books have won the Golden Leaf Award and finaled in the Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice, the Book Seller's Best and the National Reader's Choice Awards.
She lives in Maryland with her handsome husband, her two brilliant children (they get it from her, of course!), and her beloved furbabies, Dutch and Dixie Joan Wilder (Yes - THE Joan Wilder)
My Previous Review(s) for Robin Covington : The Prince's Runaway Lover
My Previous Mention(s) of Robin Covington's Books/Characters : Second Sentence Saturday: The Prince’s Runaway Lover
Miranda Liasson loves to write stories about courageous but flawed characters who find love despite themselves, because there's nothing like a great love story. And if there are a few laughs along the way, even better! She won the 2013 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award for Series Romance and also writes contemporary romance for Montlake Publishing. She lives in the Midwest with her husband, three kids, and office mates Maggie, a yellow lab, and Posey, a rescue cat with attitude. Miranda loves to hear from readers!Check out all of their Book Previews :
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- Carmen Falcone - Website
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- Robin Covington - Website & Blog
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- Amazon.com Page
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