Tuesday, March 31, 2015

OUT OF BOUNDS by Erin Nicholas

OUT OF BOUNDS by Erin Nicholas
The Boys of Fall Series

In a town where football is the main religion and the boys on the field each fall are the deities, Jackson Brady had a charmed life. As the star running back on the sure-to-be Championship team, Jackson was living the dream. Until he pushed his luck just a little too far. And got suspended from the team just before the big game.

All because goody-two-shoes Annabelle Hartington had to stick her nose where it didn’t belong. Watching his team win the title from the bench was hell and if it wasn’t for Coach Carr’s influence, Jackson would have spiraled completely out of control. Instead, he just spiraled enough to lose his college football scholarship. From there, he took on the bad boy moniker with a passion akin to his passion on the field.

Now, twelve years later, it’s a no-brainer for Jackson when he’s asked to return to Quinn to help his Coach after his heart attack. Jackson’s grown up and gotten over the mistakes of the past. This is his opportunity to make up for everything. But they have to give him a chance.

And when he runs into Annabelle and sees how nicely Dr. AJ Hartington has grown up, he realizes that she is his key to getting back into everyone’s good graces. If the beloved and respected town veterinarian is willing to take a chance on him, then everyone will see that he’s a new man.

All he needs is to show her it’s a win-win situation. And winning is something he takes very seriously.

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Excerpt:

“Hi, Jackson.”

Annabelle’s soft voice behind him felt as if she’d stroked her hand down his arm. Every muscle in his arm and his stomach tightened. And maybe a couple a little lower.
From a simple “hi”?

That reaction definitely drew Jackson’s attention from the conversation at the bar. It had been mostly small talk, a few questions about Coach, and him trying to nonchalantly feel people out about any land for sale. Not to mention trying, unsuccessfully, to work his desire to bring some of the city teens to Quinn into the conversation. He needed to know if Tom was the only one who was against the idea or if that was going to rile up everyone.

But the moment Annabelle said, “Hi, Jackson”, he forgot about everything but wanting to know how her hair smelled. Again.

He turned to face her fully.

Damn, she looked good.

That was the thought that first hit him. And it was strange. She was wearing one of those full skirts again that didn’t show a thing. But the image of her in yoga pants was branded on his brain and he could easily conjure it.

The memory made him grin. “Hey, Annabelle.”

She took a deep breath and looked, if he wasn’t mistaken, a little shy. “I was wondering if you’d dance with me.”

Dance with her? Oh, really?

“I’ve never ever turned down the chance to have a beautiful woman in my arms,” he said.

She flushed and Jackson almost grinned in satisfaction. He did so love making women blush and with Annabelle it seemed so easy. But he couldn’t quite grin. He was working too hard on not giving away how much he wanted to have her up against him.

What the hell was going on?

She smiled and the feeling got stronger.

“Great.” She started for the dance floor without waiting for him.

Jackson took a second to watch her go and changed his mind about not liking the flowing skirts. They weren’t as good as yoga pants or nothing at all, of course, but there was something about the way the silky material draped over her hips, and swung against then away from the curve of her ass, that made a man’s heart rate pick up.

It was kind of like the difference between flirting and outright telling a guy “I want you”.

The blatant “I want you” was very, very nice. But a good flirtation was equally compelling once in a while.

Jackson glanced at the other men at the bar. None were watching Annabelle walk away.

That was good.

He thought he might want to keep the secret of Annabelle’s cute butt to himself.

Jesus. Cute butt?

Jackson started after her. When she got the edge of the dance floor, she swung to face him and the skirt swirled around her.
Jackson noticed her boots immediately. Annabelle might have spent her teen years in tennis shoes but she was still a Texas girl and eventually they all wore cowboy boots. These were red. Blood red. That did surprise him a bit.

“Damn. Was hoping to catch a glimpse of that music thing again.” He stepped close and held out his arms, palms up, ready to two-step her around to some George Strait.

“Music thing?”

“Your tattoo.”

“The one on my foot?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Is there another one?” Oh, damn, please let there be another one.

“There is. In fact, there are several more.”

Yes. Now to convince her to show him where. “Several?”

She grinned. “Yes.”

She still wasn’t getting closer. He wiggled his fingers. “I’m not used to women taking so much time to get up against me,” he told her. “I feel like a dumbass here, Annabelle. Come on.”

She blinked, then seemed to register what he was talking about. She laughed, said, “Sorry,” and stepped into his arms.

His hand settled on her lower back, hers on his shoulder as he took her other hand in his. They began moving in the steps that every kid in Quinn knew from the time they could walk. A country two-step was right up there with learning the Pledge of Allegiance and their bedtime prayers.

They began swaying and he just looked at her. Annabelle Hartington smelled like cupcakes.

Finally she asked, “What?”

“Shh,” he told her. “I’m imagining your other tattoos.”

She looked startled for a moment, then her face relaxed into a knowing smile that women have been giving men since the Garden of Eden. It was a mix of fake innocence and I’ve-got-you-right-where-I-want-you.

Which made something hot throb deep inside Jackson. He was right where she wanted him? She wanted him anywhere?

“What about them?” she asked sweetly.

But he was starting to suspect there was a spicy side to Annabelle.

He tightened the arm around her, pulling her closer. “What they are. Where they are.”

She licked her bottom lip. “Why don’t you just ask me?”

“My imagination is a lot of fun.”

He was flirting with her. That wasn’t exactly a shock. Jackson usually had to try not to flirt when he was dancing with women in bars. No, the surprising thing was that Annabelle seemed to realize it.

She certainly didn’t strike him as the flirtatious party-girl type. Yet there was a recognition in her eyes that said she knew exactly what was going on.

And didn’t mind a bit.

Annabelle tipped her head to one side, her lips curled in a soft smile and her body moved closer to his as the song switched to Brad Paisley’s soft ballad She’s Everything.

“I can almost guarantee,” she said softly, “that you will never guess what the others are. And you will probably only guess where about half of them are.”

Flirting had just ratcheted up to seduction. He was pretty sure. That’s how this felt, anyway. The only thing making him wonder was the fact that this was Annabelle.

“How many are we talking?”
“Eight.”

He knew his eyes went wide. “You have eight tattoos?”

She nodded. “Seven besides the one you’ve seen.”

Of course they could be tiny. Little daisies didn’t need to take up a lot of skin. But eight?

He’d dated women with tattoos before. Lots of them, in some cases. They were gorgeous and sexy and he loved them.

But there was something very sweetly sexy about Annabelle having seven other hidden tattoos that he really, really liked. Maybe it was because it was unexpected. But he thought maybe it was more that these tattoos were obviously only for her. She hadn’t done it to be sexy—especially if the majority were hidden. She’d done it because she wanted to. They would say something about her.

He liked that most of all. And he really wanted to know what they were now.

His grip on her hand tightened and he dropped his voice to a husky growl. “I think instead of guessing, I’d rather go on a treasure hunt.”

Monday, March 30, 2015

NIKKI by Michelle Levigne

NIKKI by Michelle Levigne

Quarry Hall Book Five

Nikki lives a faerie tale existence, but after a chance encounter with Joan Archer, she starts to rethink her choices. Brock has changed since convincing Nikki to run away from home. Now his goal is to protect her from his drug lord boss. When his DEA contacts say they can't protect Nikki, Brock must act. He must break her heart to drive her away to be safe.

Ashamed to be the prodigal, Nikki doesn't go straight home. Joan and the Quarry Hall sisters find her and start her healing and the journey home. When the drug lord decides to bring Nikki back and use her to camouflage the organization's activities, he kidnaps her. Quarry Hall and its friends marshal their resources to find her before it is too late.




Excerpt

"Please, Lord, help me. Show me what to do." Nikki shook her head and watched the teardrops fall on the Bible's pages. "I know what I have to do, but I don't want to. I'm a coward. I'm selfish. I'm--" She slid to her knees again, resting her head on the open Bible, sobbing.

She didn't hear the door open, didn't feel anything until Brock caught her by her elbow and lifted her to her feet.

"You are pathetic! How long are you going to lay around, crying and talking to a God who sure isn't listening? Can't you figure out what you need to do? What's it going to be, Nikki? Me or that baby?"

Later, all that she could remember clearly was that he called it a baby, not a thing, a problem.

She knew what she had to say, what she should say, but the words still caught in her throat.

"Are you gonna abort it, or not?" He dropped her on the bed. "How long are you going to put us through this?"

"I can't--"

He swung back, agony twisting his face. Time slowed, but she couldn't move out of the way as his hand came down and connected hard with her face. Her vision shattered, her neck snapped back and half a heartbeat later she was airborne. The thud when she hit the wall seemed to deafen her and knock the air from her lungs. Nikki slid down, gasping and blinking.

Brock snatched up her Bible and tore it apart at the spine. He yanked and ripped and threw pages across the bed, then across the room.

"Choose!" He threw the cover into her face and stormed out.

Sunday, March 29, 2015

SPLINTERED by Sam Cheever

SPLINTERED by Sam Cheever

Current climate in Tuktu, Alaska: Mostly sunny, with a chance of partly furry.

Life isn’t going well for Vivica Breckenridge. Recently relocated to Tuktu, Alaska, she expects things to be a little squiggy for a while as she acclimates to a whole new place, with new people and new ways of doing things. But she has no idea how squiggy they’re going to get. Until she wakes up one morning with fur over only part of her body. Things can’t get much weirder than that! Or can they?

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Excerpt:

“What’s up, Doc?”

Cary blinked. For just a second the incredible creature standing before him had sprouted ears. They’d been the cutest, fuzziest white ears, sticking almost straight up from the top of her beautiful head, but they’d definitely been there one second and gone the next.

No one else had seemed to notice, so he thought he must have imagined it. He couldn’t help thinking it was a strange trick for his mind to play the first time he laid eyes on a gorgeous female.

To cover his confusion he laughed. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

Vivica Breckenridge chewed her bottom lip, but her smile stayed fixed. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

She was petite, probably no taller than five foot four inches, lushly curved, and wore her silky black hair in a classy bob that angled to her chin. Her brown eyes were wide, filled with mischief, and lined in kohl-colored lashes that looked as if they were an inch long. They fluttered charmingly against her silky brown cheek as she glanced at their clasped hands. Her nose was short and narrow, widening at the end, and the delicate nostrils flared softly as she looked him over. Her sumptuous lips were sexy beneath chocolate-brown lipstick.

He had a sudden, irrepressible desire to nibble those lips.

Saturday, March 28, 2015

FATE UNEXPECTED by Marisa Chenery

FATE UNEXPECTED by Marisa Chenery

Earth Defender-Book One

A summer storm of red rain changed life as Kylah knew it, and her in ways she couldn't imagine. Humans around the world sickened and died, or turned into wild creatures with red eyes that hungered for flesh. Her planet was on the verge of extinction, and there was nothing anybody could do about it.

Rune, a Dracan mercenary, had signed on with the Xphens to fight for them during the Earth conquest. Having Kylah capture him changed everything. She had him questioning which side he wanted to be on.

Kylah finds herself drawn to the large cat-eyed alien. Fleeing with Rune to the Cascade mountain range, she lets her feelings for him cloud her judgment. From two different planets, theirs is a relationship that could end before it had a chance to start.



Excerpt:

Kylah drove away in the pre-dawn darkness and forced herself to not look back. It suddenly hit her that she left behind what had been the happy world with her parents. It hadn’t bothered her when she’d prepared to make the trip, but now that she actually did, tears burned the backs of her eyes.

She pushed them away. She’d cried more than enough in the days after she’d awakened from her sickness. Mostly when she’d had to dig a grave in the backyard to bury her dad. Before the illness, it would have been a monumental task, but it’d been relatively easy for her. It was physically putting him into the ground and covering him with dirt that had been tough.

At Curlew Lake, Kylah parked her car between two others that had been abandoned. Since she hadn’t washed hers since the aliens’ arrival, it blended in. If people happened to come across it, she didn’t want it to stand out.

Kylah climbed out, then went to the trunk where she’d stored what she’d taken with her. She took out her sword, and one of the backpacks that had some necessities in it like a couple bottles of water and a few energy bars. Before she lugged the rest of her things into the bush, she wanted to scout the area and pick out a spot that would be a good place to set up her new home.

She closed the trunk, strapped on her sword and shouldered the backpack. Kylah had been to the lake many times, and knew the area fairly well. She started walking on one of the trails, then cut into the trees. Dawn was about an hour away. She wanted to have a location picked out before the sun rose. There was no telling if any of the turned had ranged that far.

Kylah bypassed the lake and headed for the more mountainous area where the bush was thicker. She walked at a brisk pace for the new her, which would have had someone else having to run to keep up.

She slowed, then came to a stop to hide behind a large tree when she stumbled across a sort of clearing in the midst of the forest. Kylah peeked around the thick trunk to get a better view. It looked as if some of the trees had been cut down to create it. The logs lay in a pile near the edge of the space.

It was a campsite, but not a human one. The circular perimeter was enclosed in what she supposed was a force field. With her keen eyesight, she was able to see the waves of energy. Inside it, there were two white metallic-looking dome structures. Alien versions of tents? She could only guess. Next to them were two vehicles that looked sort of like wheel-less motorcycles.

Kylah drew fully behind the tree. An idea swirled inside her mind. It was crazy, but it was time for the aliens to be the prey. And there was a possibility she could get answers as to what the hell they’d done to her planet along with why they were there.

She took a deep breath. She was going to do it. She was going to see if she could capture one of the aliens. A single dome looked as if it could hold only one occupant. Maybe inside them were the two she’d seen last night in town. The spot was close enough to Republic for a basecamp.

To set her plan into motion, Kylah silently ran through the trees to the opposite perimeter. She had to draw the aliens out. With that force field up, there was no way she could sneak into their camp. So she caused a disturbance they wouldn’t be able to ignore.

Kylah threw back her head and let out a drawn-out howl like one the turned would make. She added a few loud growls for good measure. To top it off, she let loose a shrill scream as if she were a woman who was being pursued by the turned. At the sound of alien voices speaking in urgent tones, she ran at her fastest to the back of the camp.

She smiled. The two aliens were indeed the ones she’d seen in town. The furred one touched some kind of wrist device that was strapped to his arm, then ran off in the direction where she’d been. Kylah gazed at the one who looked very much like a human. He was the one she wanted, and not because she still thought he was a hunk.

After a few more seconds and the furry alien didn’t return, Kylah made some more growls to lure the other one to her. He took the bait. She hid behind a tree and drew her sword. She’d knock him out, then get him farther up on the mountain before his buddy returned.

She took a quick glance. He was headed right for her. As he neared her tree, she walked around it as he passed before silently coming up behind him. She raised her sword, drew it back, then with the flat of it, hit him on the back of his head hard enough to knock him out. He hit the ground like a ton of bricks.

Acting quickly, she took out two zip ties that she had in her backpack. She’d been prepared for anything. She jerked his arms behind his back and bound his wrists together. She did the same to his ankles. Thankful for her super strength, she bent and managed to hoist him over her shoulder. She straightened. He wasn’t exactly light, but she’d be able to carry him a distance to where the other alien wouldn’t find them. At least she hoped or it all could go terribly wrong with her being captured.

As she ran at her top speed while weighed down, the other alien called out a single word. Rune. She bet that was the name of her prize.

Friday, March 27, 2015

IN HER SECRET FANTASY by Marie Treanor


Book 2 of the IN series

Desire beyond imagination…danger that’s all too real.

A sequel to In His Wildest Dreams

World-weary, burned-out undercover cop Aidan Grieve’s latest assignment has brought him home to the Highland village he couldn’t wait to leave, but something’s definitely wrong in Ardknocken.

When did his parents get so frail? What is his sister thinking, befriending the chief suspects in his investigation—the ex-cons of Ardknocken House? And why can he barely control his instant attraction to the house’s beautiful manager?

Her mind and body still mending from a vicious attack, ex-parole officer Chrissy Lennox isn’t ready for a complication like the charming, empathetic, gorgeous Aidan, a restless adrenaline junkie for whom this sleepy village has never been big enough.

Yet as easily as the meddling selkies shed their skins, desire strips away their hesitation, and not even the cold Scottish sea can cool the fire. But as Aidan’s investigation progresses, so does the danger—revealing secrets that could leave their hearts in pieces.

Warning: When our hero is good, he’s very good…but when he’s bad, he’s delicious! Also contains lusty, mischievous selkies who’ll steal your heart with one flipper while stealing your underwear with the other.

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Excerpt:

Copyright © 2015 Marie Treanor
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication

Aidan exhaled briskly and strode up the path to the road. Someone—Hugh—called an enthusiastic greeting from an upper window next door, and Aidan grinned and waved back. But he didn’t stop. If there had been less frost on the road, he’d have run, just to ease his muscles.

Settling for a fast walk, he avoided the High Street and cut down past the church towards the harbour. The salty smell of the sea, the calling of the gulls and the clean chill of the air invaded his senses, dragging a mountain of memories from childhood. A simpler life, one he couldn’t wait to escape. The enclosed, isolated life of the village had never been enough for him. He’d known he’d miss his family and friends when he left, but he’d never imagined he’d miss anything else. He must be a bigger wreck than he’d imagined.

What the hell were his bosses thinking of, sending him home for his final mission? Had they worked out before he did that he needed to come home?

Hardly. Like so much of his work, this was driven by drug abuse. There was an all mighty stink about so many recent, scattered deaths from the same batch of contaminated heroin. Especially during the festive season, although Aidan couldn’t see why the time of year should make any difference. Whatever, the suppliers couldn’t be traced beyond the little guys, and the police in Glasgow and Dundee had come up with only one tenuous connection, a known villain by the name of Gowan, who seemed to be living now in the peaceful west Highland town of Oban, where there was no real concentration of criminals—except, a couple of hours down the road, the ex-cons now living at Ardknocken House.

No, as far as the police force was concerned, Aidan was here because he had a natural cover, not because they were doing him any favours.

Laughing at himself, he walked round to the deserted harbour. A couple of cars were parked there, but there was no one around. When he was a kid, several fishing boats had tied up here, but not anymore. A few rowing boats still bobbed against the harbour wall, alongside a couple of slightly bigger vessels, including Old Tam’s, and another one covered in canvas, the one his father had given him for his sixteenth birthday. It might have been to bribe him to stay. But Aidan had just wanted to sail away in it. He grinned, remembering his fantasies of sailing down to Glasgow, even to London, and across the Channel. In reality, he’d only ever sailed north. He and his friend Dan had gone as far as Orkney, once, and even considered Norway, but Dan had had to go home.

Aidan untied the ropes and threw back the canvas. The boat smelled musty, unused, but it still drew him. He jumped down onto the deck, loving the rocking under his feet, the salty spray on his face. Shit, he could sail it off now, round the headland and back before tea.

And probably drown himself. God knew what condition the old tub was in. He began an inspection, quickly getting lost in the task and making mental notes of obvious repairs. He’d have to haul it right out of the water…

A sudden crash of breaking glass from the shore made him straighten and jerk around. A few yards from one of the parked cars, a woman had fallen in a tangle of limbs and plastic bags. Aidan vaulted over the side of the boat onto the quay and ran across to her.

Patches of black ice slipping under his feet probably explained her accident. The woman on the ground was young and slightly punk, with her black hair backcombed and tied in a haphazard yet stylish way. She wore big, jet earrings, a padded jacket with a fur collar, and black leggings, which right now displayed the full shapeliness of her legs as she tried to right herself.

“You okay?” Aidan said, crouching down beside her.

She paused, clear brown eyes flying to his. She didn’t blink. She had very long, black lashes and wore smoky dark eye shadow. It wasn’t a look he’d ever consciously admired, and yet her beauty stood out like a solitary star in a dark night sky.

It might have been the fine bone structure of her face that struck him like a blow in the chest, or the fiercely independent “Sod off, I can manage” look in her large, brown eyes. Or perhaps it was the oddly vulnerable curve of her mouth, tightened in the pain of her fall. She’d come down with some force.

A frown tugged at his brow as he tried to place her. She was about his own age, surely, or a couple of years younger like Louise. Either way, he should know her.

And with an unpleasant jolt, he did. They hadn’t grown up together, had never met, but he knew who she was.

Christine Lennox, the ex-parole officer who “worked” up at the big house, with the ex-cons. She too had an unsavoury story in her past… But whatever the truth of it, and despite his experience of the more sordid, squalid and plain nasty elements of life, he was oddly reluctant to attach it to her. She seemed too…vital.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, when she didn’t immediately answer him.

From the delicate way she shifted position, she’d bruised her hip when she landed. But at his question, she seemed to deliberately smooth away all signs of pain from her face, which flushed now with embarrassment. She’d rather have gone down without a witness.

“I survived the fall,” she said lightly, “but I doubt the carry-out did.” Her accent was vaguely Glasgow, her voice low and slightly husky—the kind that sent shivers down his spine. Apparently.

“Black ice,” he said. “Gets you every time.”

He rose and stretched down his hand to her. For a moment, even accepting that tiny courtesy seemed to hang in the balance for her. He thought she drew in a sharp breath before she took his bare hand in her gloved one, and clambered warily to her feet. She wore stout-looking boots, although on closer inspection, the soles were somewhat thin and probably smooth. Old boots. If she was rich, she wasn’t flashy with it.

She released his hand immediately, almost flustered, he thought, and began raking through her bags. They all clanked.

“Planning a party?” Aidan enquired.

“I was,” she said wryly. “Ah well, less drink is good for hangovers.”

“That much damage?”

“Nah. Only one bottle. The beer and the whisky are safe, so who cares? Thanks for your help.”

Aidan picked up the clearly leaking bag and gingerly removed the intact whisky and beer before striding over to the wastepaper bin next to the road to deposit the broken glass and soggy bag. As he returned, the girl, moving just a little stiffly, was picking up the other bags. He took one from her.

“That your car?” he asked, jerking his head towards the Land Rover.

She nodded.

“Mind your feet,” he advised.

“Thanks,” she said sardonically, and in spite of himself, he grinned.

She walked without limping to the car and opened the boot. Aidan waited until she’d dropped her own bags in before adding his and the loose items. He watched her shut the boot and glance at him with a rather charming mixture of wariness and awkward friendliness. She wasn’t what he’d expected.

A thrill of sexual interest caught him off guard. He wondered what she looked like under the coat, wanted to spark a similar excitement to his own in those clear, almost defiant eyes. What would it take to melt her bones, to have her breathless and eager in his arms?

Thursday, March 26, 2015

DANGEROUS SURRENDER by Tory Richards

DANGEROUS SURRENDER by Tory Richards

Would you give yourself to a stranger? Gwendolyn Myers never thought about it until she runs into Marcus 'Bowie' Ford at the Pink Pussy. A run-down hotel at the edge of town. She's on the run, but one taste of the sexy biker convinces Gwen that her running days might be over!

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Excerpt:

"Is there a restaurant or bar around here where I can get something to eat and drink?" I inquired while he was counting out the change. I was exhausted, but I was also starving and hadn't eaten since early that morning. I glanced around the office until I found a clock. It was just after nine.

"There's the Red Rooster across the street. It’s a bar but they serve up sandwiches and burgers. They stay open until two."

Great, I could walk over and get a sandwich. I held my hand out for the change.

"Not your kind of bar."

The gravelly voice came from the sexy biker behind me, and forced me to turn around and acknowledge him. I had to look a long way up to meet the intensity of his eyes, which were dark and compelling. God damn! The man had trouble written all over him, and a little spark of fear uncurled deep inside my belly warning me to be cautious at how I responded. "Excuse me?" How did he know what kind of bar was my kind of bar?

He crossed his arms over his massive chest. Not an ounce of emotion on his hard, rugged face. "The place caters to the rough crowd."

His deep and sensual voice sent a ripple of awareness through me that I couldn’t deny. I don't know where I managed to dredge up a tiny smile, my token thank you for the warning. "I can take care of myself." My inner voice scoffed and said, yeah, since when?

The biker tilted his head and gave me the slowest up and down look that I'd ever received. His visual caress, when he lingered on my lady parts, cranked my libido up to an uncomfortable heat level. I raised my chin, knowing that it wouldn't add any height to my five feet seven inch frame. Jesus, everything about this stranger was making me hot. I wanted to groan when I felt my nipples harden right beneath his intense stare. The slightest quirk of his mouth told me that he'd noticed.

His brown gaze gradually continued up my throat, to my face. When I saw his eyes narrow I knew he was noticing the fading bruise on my cheek, which makeup had covered earlier. Was it my imagination that his mouth tightened? Then his eyes locked onto mine.

"Right," he said.

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

CRUISING THE GREEN OF SECOND AVENUE, VOL. 1 by Walt Giersbach

CRUISING THE GREEN OF SECOND AVENUE, VOL. 1 by Walt Giersbach

Daily life was dramatic on New York's Lower East Side in the late 1960s. Klein the Biker, Straight Charlie, Sammy the Madman, Frank and the Chick from Canarsie and a cast of tens romp through the city in the dawning of a new age. Jake, the narrator, delivers artistic distance to these dysfunctional people grasping at the metaphorical magic of hitting every green light on Second Avenue. Their highs and lows are chronicled with humor and insight, elation and sadness. The collection updates a rich heritage of vernacular story-telling in the genre of O. Henry's Collected Stories, Pulitzer-winner Jimmy Breslin's The Gang That Couldn't Shoot Straight, and Damon Runyon's Guys and Dolls.

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An Excerpt from: Cruising the Green of Second Avenue
Frank Cassidy and the Canarsie Chick

by Walter Giersbach © 2006

All rights reserved Wild Child Publishing

If seriousness was a statue, Frank Cassidy would have been forty feet tall. He was too solemn for his own good, or anyone else's. I suspect he lacked even a particle of devil-may-care attitude because he had a serious upbringing in New Jersey.

Frank was a Princeton boy. The town, not the university, was his home. His parents were lawyers, he said, and they impressed upon him that life was rational, sex was perilous, and the best gratification was the kind that was deferred.

Maybe that's why he went all the way across country to Reed College in Oregon to find himself. Then, in 1965, he bounced back to New York after graduation and found himself in a hundred-dollar-a-month walkup on the Lower East Side.

That's when I met him, as he was waiting for a berth to open up as a reporter for The New York Times and probably aware of his folks looking over his shoulder. The Times had a cachet of serious journalism that would please Mom and Dad, while his true interest in cinema would be satisfied simply by working in the same building as the paper's iconic film critic, Bosley Crowther. For the time being, he was writing movie reviews for a shopper news that served the Lower East Side with neighborhood features and insights into grocery specials.

"Having a paycheck gives you a perspective on things you don't get in college," he said. "And I like movies. The cinema. Free tickets are a fringe benefit to witnessing the culture of our generation unfolding at twenty-four frames per second."

Tall, dark and good-looking in a preppie kind of way, Frank should have had girls on him like rats fighting over a bagel. But that wasn't the case. He had more girl problems than any person I've known since the invention of Clearasil.

The astounding point about Frank striking out with women is that he got this close to them before he realized the ending had already been written by his too-serious character. He'd knock on the door at the penthouse of love only to have someone inside shout There's no one home! If they made a movie about Frank, he would be Wile E. Coyote.

"I don't know what it is," he told me one night while we were having a beer at Pete's Tavern on Irving Place. "I'm polite. I never offend anyone unintentionally. I pay for dinner. And then they say, 'Don't call me. I'll call you.'"

I'd had this kind of brush-off myself, getting ready for a goodnight kiss only to find it was the ninth inning of a shut-out game. Scoreless again.

"I struck up a conversation with a nice-looking girl I met at the Strand bookstore," he went on. "She gave me her telephone number, but when I called the next day, I discovered it was lost and found at Grand Central Station."

"Frank, I am one hundred percent sympathetic."

"They say your best friend won't tell you if you have bad breath, but you're not my best friend. Do I have halitosis?" He was drowning in his third beer.

"I think part of the problem may be that you have a case of being terminally serious." I felt uncomfortable saying this. Guys don't talk about relationships. Girls may. When Mr. Puberty issues different sets of hormones, boys think of point spreads for the New York Giants and girls begin defining relationships like a bunch of medieval theologians. "You need to loosen up, Frank. Hang loose."

"Last week, I thought I'd found a kindred spirit," he said morosely. "I was invited onto the set where they were filming that Sean Connery movie, A Fine Madness. Over on Fifth Street and Bowery."

"Hey, I used to live there. They really shot a scene there?"

"Connery is this macho poet who lands in the loony bin. I saw him. Jean Seberg even said hi to me. Anyway, I got to talking with the script girl. A really tall girl who went to Bennington. Her name was Jill. She said things like, 'Ovah heah we do cinema diff'rently.' She talked with a kind of lockjaw, like Katherine Hepburn. I bought her a coffee, we chatted, and then I asked her what a best boy is. I never knew. See, in all the credits they identify the hairdresser and the caterer and the set designer. In every film credit there's a best boy."

"Don't give me details. Just cut to the chase, Frank."

"Well, Jill said it's a very important position, but her explanation was interrupted when she was called away by Irvin Kershner, the director. Next thing I saw was the best boy having his lunch delivered on a silver tray, and Jill came back and yelled that his limo was ready. Oh, and when he had a minute, Joanne Woodward would like to consult with him. Jill confided to me then that the best boy had a script being read by Warren Beatty and I should put that in my column."

I sensed something bad was coming and was torn between feeling I had to hear Frank out and wanting to go to the men's room to get away from the ending.

If seriousness was a statue, Frank Cassidy would have been forty feet tall. He was too solemn for his own good, or anyone else's. I suspect he lacked even a particle of devil-may-care attitude because he had a serious upbringing in New Jersey.

Frank was a Princeton boy. The town, not the university, was his home. His parents were lawyers, he said, and they impressed upon him that life was rational, sex was perilous, and the best gratification was the kind that was deferred.

Maybe that's why he went all the way across country to Reed College in Oregon to find himself. Then, in 1965, he bounced back to New York after graduation and found himself in a hundred-dollar-a-month walkup on the Lower East Side.

That's when I met him, as he was waiting for a berth to open up as a reporter for The New York Times and probably aware of his folks looking over his shoulder. The Times had a cachet of serious journalism that would please Mom and Dad, while his true interest in cinema would be satisfied simply by working in the same building as the paper's iconic film critic, Bosley Crowther. For the time being, he was writing movie reviews for a shopper news that served the Lower East Side with neighborhood features and insights into grocery specials.

"Having a paycheck gives you a perspective on things you don't get in college," he said. "And I like movies. The cinema. Free tickets are a fringe benefit to witnessing the culture of our generation unfolding at twenty-four frames per second."

Tall, dark and good-looking in a preppie kind of way, Frank should have had girls on him like rats fighting over a bagel. But that wasn't the case. He had more girl problems than any person I've known since the invention of Clearasil.

The astounding point about Frank striking out with women is that he got this close to them before he realized the ending had already been written by his too-serious character. He'd knock on the door at the penthouse of love only to have someone inside shout There's no one home! If they made a movie about Frank, he would be Wile E. Coyote.

"I don't know what it is," he told me one night while we were having a beer at Pete's Tavern on Irving Place. "I'm polite. I never offend anyone unintentionally. I pay for dinner. And then they say, 'Don't call me. I'll call you.'"

I'd had this kind of brush-off myself, getting ready for a goodnight kiss only to find it was the ninth inning of a shut-out game. Scoreless again.

"I struck up a conversation with a nice-looking girl I met at the Strand bookstore," he went on. "She gave me her telephone number, but when I called the next day, I discovered it was lost and found at Grand Central Station."

"Frank, I am one hundred percent sympathetic."

"They say your best friend won't tell you if you have bad breath, but you're not my best friend. Do I have halitosis?" He was drowning in his third beer.

"I think part of the problem may be that you have a case of being terminally serious." I felt uncomfortable saying this. Guys don't talk about relationships. Girls may. When Mr. Puberty issues different sets of hormones, boys think of point spreads for the New York Giants and girls begin defining relationships like a bunch of medieval theologians. "You need to loosen up, Frank. Hang loose."

"Last week, I thought I'd found a kindred spirit," he said morosely. "I was invited onto the set where they were filming that Sean Connery movie, A Fine Madness. Over on Fifth Street and Bowery."

"Hey, I used to live there. They really shot a scene there?"

"Connery is this macho poet who lands in the loony bin. I saw him. Jean Seberg even said hi to me. Anyway, I got to talking with the script girl. A really tall girl who went to Bennington. Her name was Jill. She said things like, 'Ovah heah we do cinema diff'rently.' She talked with a kind of lockjaw, like Katherine Hepburn. I bought her a coffee, we chatted, and then I asked her what a best boy is. I never knew. See, in all the credits they identify the hairdresser and the caterer and the set designer. In every film credit there's a best boy."

"Don't give me details. Just cut to the chase, Frank."

"Well, Jill said it's a very important position, but her explanation was interrupted when she was called away by Irvin Kershner, the director. Next thing I saw was the best boy having his lunch delivered on a silver tray, and Jill came back and yelled that his limo was ready. Oh, and when he had a minute, Joanne Woodward would like to consult with him. Jill confided to me then that the best boy had a script being read by Warren Beatty and I should put that in my column."

I sensed something bad was coming and was torn between feeling I had to hear Frank out and wanting to go to the men's room to get away from the ending.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

MORE THAN SHE BARGAINED FOR by Crystal Red

MORE THAN SHE BARGAINED FOR by Crystal Red 

Curse of the Werewolves-Book Two

Beth Klause has dated a lot of jerks. She wants her roommate, Chad Nickels, to be different. No doubt they have chemistry, but he doesn’t want a serious relationship. She hopes he changes his mind, even after she becomes a werewolf. It doesn’t help that her ex-boyfriend, Steve, still won’t stop inferring with her life. Will she be able to get rid of her ex for good, or will Steve destroy any chance of her ending up with Chad?

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Excerpt

Without a word, Beth broke free and then stomped off on her white high heels. He groaned. How did he always manage to say the wrong thing to her? All he wanted to do was to get to know her and have her open up to him just a little. He wasn’t asking for much. Although, part of him wondered what it’d be like to be married.

With a deep breath and heavy heart, he hurried toward the front door of the hall where Beth had ran off to. A couple minutes later, he found her sobbing in the parking lot next to a rusty Honda. Red looked better on her than it did on the car.

“Go away!” She sniffed and glowered at him.

“Beth,” he said in a soft tone. “I’m sorry if I said something to upset you. I wouldn’t want to dance with anyone but you.”

She wiped her wet eyes. “I don’t want to get involved with you and have it come back to bite me in the ass.”

“I know.”

She puckered her lips. “No, you don’t. I’ve been burned way too many times to be starting something new with a guy like you.”

“I’m not like your other boyfriends,” he whispered.

“And how would you know that?” She tapped her foot.

“Because,” he brushed a loose tendril of hair away from her face. “I’m not going to cheat on you or lie to you like they did.”

She shuddered at his touch. “You confuse me.”

“Beth.” He stepped closer.

From somewhere behind him, a growl echoed across the parking lot. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. What the fuck? His stomach clenched. It couldn’t be, could it?

Before he could turn around or even push Beth out of the way, a hairy werewolf wrapped its paws around his ankles and brought him to the ground. His hands flew up, and his left wrist slammed into the side of the car. He winced from the pain as a sickening crack filled his ears.

Beth screamed and tried to run away, but the werewolf scooped her up and threw her onto the hood of the car. Chad stumbled to his feet, his wrist throbbing. He sucked in a harsh breath and lunged at the wolf.

“Don’t fucking touch her!”


The wolf with red eyes growled, baring its teeth, and shoved Chad away with a paw before it sank its sharp yellow teeth into Beth’s side.

Chad froze. Millions of thoughts raced through his head. Where the hell had this werewolf come from? What if it killed Beth? If something happened to her…

He shook off the negative thoughts and ran toward the wolf with a pounding heart. It roared and ran off into the dark night.

His gut twisted into knots, his wrist killing him, he ran to Beth. Blood soaked the right side of her dress. Panic swept through him. No. The werewolf couldn’t have killed her. He had to save her before it was too late.

“Beth?”

No response. Chad swallowed as he looked over at her. She was motionless on the hood of the car. Is it too late? He grabbed her wrist. She still had a pulse. Her breath came out unsteady and slow. He had to get her to a hospital.

He scooped her up into his arms and held her tight against him. Guilt washed over him. If only he could have saved her sooner. How would he ever live with himself if she didn’t make it? A werewolf had attacked her. Just how Brandon had gotten the bite.

He held his breath as he headed to his car. With one arm, he gripped Beth. He pulled his car remote out of his pocket and then hit the unlock button. In order to open the car door, he had to set Beth onto the hood. That done, he picked her up again and then gently placed her into the passenger’s side. Blood covered his hands and white shirt, but that didn’t matter right now.

They arrived at the hospital five minutes later. As he rushed over to the door to open it, Beth jerked up, her eyes wide.

His heart thundered as he yanked the door open. “Beth? Are you okay?”

“I-I don’t know,” she stuttered.

Chad winced as pain shot through his wrist.

Beth tried to stand, but wobbled and nearly fell on her face. “What’s wrong with your wrist and why are you bleeding?” She leaned against the car for support.

“It’s probably just a bruise from when I tried to save you from the werewolf that attacked you. The blood is from you.”

She shook her head. “Your wrist could be broken. We need to get it checked out.”

He clenched his teeth. “I’m fine. I’ll put some ice on it. Good as new.”

Her green eyes darkened. “Stop being so fucking stubborn. Let’s go inside the ER and find out.” She tugged at the sleeve of his jacket and waved him toward the hospital building.

“What about you?” He looked her over from head to toe. Not one scratch covered her. Visibly, anyway. Blood no longer soaked her dress either, only a tear remained on the right side where she’d received a bite. No doubt a werewolf had done that. The same thing had happened to Brandon when he was sixteen.

She looked away. “I don’t know what happened."


He draped his good arm around her waist. “You were attacked by a werewolf. You’re healed.”

“Fine. Let’s get you checked out.”

As they walked up the sidewalk path to the hospital, his heart weighed heavy with guilt. That shouldn’t have happened to Beth. He’d get to the bottom of who was behind the werewolf bite, even if it’d be the death of him.

Monday, March 23, 2015

THE HEARTBROKEN COWBOY by Melissa Keir

Saddle Up with the best-selling authors who brought you Cowboy Up... And fall for Six more Cowboys ready to steal your heart!



The Heartbroken Cowboy by Melissa Keir
Love isn’t found at the bottom of a bottle…


Johnson O’Neill joined The Heartsong Ranch to escape his addiction. One night at a friend’s wedding, stress causes him to fall off the wagon and into the arms of the woman of his dreams.

Debra Donahue lost her husband to alcohol then pulled herself up by her bootstraps becoming a million-dollar selling real estate agent. One night with a sexy cowboy and a bottle of whiskey, Debra falls hard.

Can an alcoholic cowboy and a brokenhearted woman find love despite their fears? Or will the bottom of a bottle claim another happily ever after?


Other stories include:

Good Ride, Cowboy by Allison Merritt
Sometimes all you need is one good ride to clear your head.

Cowboy in Waiting by Leslie P. Garcia
She’d buried a hero. She wasn’t looking for another. But her cowboy in waiting was far from a hero…

Cowboy in Trouble by Autumn Piper
A cowboy on the run and a girl on the rebound make for a messy fling.

A Cowboy’s Heaven by Sara Walter Ellwood
From the hell of lost love, can they find heaven together?

Cowboy Proud by D’Ann Lindun
She left town to chase her dreams... He stayed and ignored his... Can they find their dreams together?





EXCERPT:

“I don’t drink, but could use a strong one, right now. Not this sissy stuff.” He lifted the glass to his lips, downed the contents, and shoved his now-empty champagne flute away before he leaned in toward her. The smell of alcohol on his breath hinted that he’d already had too much to drink. “Know anyone around here with some whiskey?” The dark sapphire of his eyes chilled her. This was a man used to getting what he wanted. “I’d even share.” His voice deepened and became husky with his offer and she shivered.

“I don’t drink with men I don’t know.” Debra stuck out her hand. “I’m Debra, and you are?”

The man grabbed another glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray and guzzled the drink in one swallow. “The name’s Johnson O’Neill. Now about that whiskey.” He reached out and drew her up to standing then tugged her in close to him. Wrapping his arm around her back, he moved her body in a slow two-step motion.

Debra gazed into his eyes. “You don’t have to seduce me for the whiskey.” She stepped out of his embrace and put her hands on her hips. She frowned.

“That’s not why I drew you into my arms. You were tapping your foot when I arrived—and I thought you might like a dance. A pretty woman like you shouldn’t be sitting alone.” He stretched his palm out again in a plea.

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Sunday, March 22, 2015

THE RED DRAGON by Tianna Xander

THE RED DRAGON by Tianna Xander

Dragon Bound # 8

What’s an older woman do when a handsome dragon decides she’s his? She goes with it.

Emily is seventy-six years old. It's a good thing she looks and feels as though she's only sixty. Otherwise, she might have had a stroke when she visits the site of her love’s resting place. She thinks he's dead. She definitely doesn’t expect him to rise from the ground in dragon form and carry her off as though she's some sacrificial virgin.
 
Whatever she imagined she would find in Scotland, it certainly wasn’t an adventure with a handsome dragon who had chosen to age with her, a well-kept secret revealed, and a new life as an ancient dragon’s most treasured possession.


BUY THE eBOOK   ***   BUY IN KINDLE   ***   READ THE EXCERPT

EXCERPT

Emily slid from the back of the limousine and stretched. Her old bones didn’t take long trips well anymore. This trip was the longest she’d been on in years. Her doctor would probably have a cow if he found out she went to Europe. At least she wasn’t alone. Her friend, Summer, and her significant other accompanied her, along with two of Summer’s sisters and their husbands.

She stared up at the large castle that loomed before them. Thick ropes of ivy grew over the stone walls, moss grew along the northern side, and it looked as though it had seen better days.

Was this Declan’s house? She didn’t expect him to have neglected his home so thoroughly. Had he really come here when she rejected him? If he had, did he come here to die, or to hole up in the lair she knew all dragon males possessed? Whatever the case, she had to find him. She had to tell him she was sorry she had wasted their lives, their chance at happiness. Her eyes filled with tears when she thought of the loneliness he must have felt all the long centuries he’d lived.

Closing her eyes, she hummed the song he’d taught her. She always felt closer to him with the melody in her mind. He had told her the song was one his mother sang to him when he was young.

After a moment, a strange feeling pulled her, tugged her to her left. Ignoring her companions, Emily opened her eyes and began to walk.

She was about halfway between the neglected castle and a steep cliff when she stopped and looked down. At her feet was a large round stone, shaped like a giant seal with odd-looking letters carved into its surface.

Lowering herself to her aching knees, she reached out, slowly removing the weeds and thick heather that had tried to hide it.

“I wish I knew what it says.” She glanced up at her entourage. Tears filled her eyes and slid down her cheeks. Something told her this was where Declan had gone all those years ago, after she rejected him. She stared down at the stone that must have been his grave marker and willed herself not to cry for her lost love. “He’s in there, isn’t he?”

She didn’t want anyone to tell her that he was gone, that she was too late to tell him she was sorry. Still, she needed an answer. She needed closure.

Adrian, Summer’s dragon mate, bent down and rested his hands on his knees. He frowned at the beautiful script before reading it aloud. “Here lies the Red Dragon, red for the rubies he guards and for the passion he holds for his one true mate.”

Emily grasped the center of her chest. The pain would have brought her to her knees if she hadn’t already knelt down upon them. She bent over, sobbing onto the stone that covered the body of the only man she had ever loved.

Her sobs only grew worse when he continued. “Open only if you wish to experience the wrath of Declan Brus. Here he shall remain, resting forever.”

“Okay. I could be wrong, but doesn’t that sound like he’s still alive in there?” Summer’s sister, May moved around the outside of the stone, her mate, Damek, always hovering close.

They didn’t know. They couldn’t feel the deep, heart-wrenching loss she felt at Declan’s absence. Emily had stopped feeling their connection long ago. Then, she had been certain he had found another. Nothing had prepared her to find out that he had willed himself to die. Alone. Like all dragons without a mate, he was always alone.

“It sounds that way to me,” Summer said as she made a circuit around the large, beautifully carved stone. “So, how do we open it?”

What would be the point? Emily wanted to scream at them all. Why bother? They were too late. She was too late. He was dead, which was the only explanation she could think of for why he was buried beneath the earth and his once beautiful castle falling to pieces.

“I don’t know. It is likely that there is something in the castle, but until we can legally get inside, we won’t know anything.” Adrian straightened and stared at the stone structure, standing so forlorn and forgotten. “Do you think there is a caretaker here?” He frowned toward the castle. “If there is, he hasn’t been doing his job keeping the structure in good repair.

“If there isn’t, someone has to be paying the rates and taxes. Otherwise, the government would have seized and sold it by now. I would hypothesize that Declan has someone watching over his home while he’s in mourning.” Damek turned to look at her. “Though you are still with us, he mourns your loss.”

He mourned the loss of his mate and willed himself to die. He was buried here, deep in the ground, and she was too late to tell him she was sorry. Emily buried her head in her hands and sobbed again. Why had she turned him down all those years ago? Why hadn’t she trusted him to love her the way he claimed he did?

The others spoke around her. She was certain that something important was going on around her, but she didn’t care. How could she care when her mate had given up on living because she had rejected him so many years before?

Her heart broke all over again as she knelt atop his grave and cried for all the things that could have been, if only she had been brave enough to love a dragon.

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