tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72954337881419821692024-03-14T07:42:41.164-04:00Love Those ExcerptsDaily excerpts for books of all genres - Romance, Horror, Sci Fi, Fantasy, Suspense, Paranormal, Inspirational, Erotica, Mystery, Historical - and everything in between!AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.comBlogger1236125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-80691718449086859722015-05-29T05:00:00.000-04:002015-05-29T11:16:37.690-04:00DESERT TRYST by Susanne Saville<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Desert-Tryst-1Night-Susanne-Saville-ebook/dp/B00Y3O5WY8?tag=authorisland20" target="_blank">DESERT TRYST</a> by <a href="http://www.susannesaville.com/" target="_blank">Susanne Saville </a><br />
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A 1Night Stand<br />
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The cat-and-mouse game between professional assassin Dmitri Dzerzhinsky and FBI Special Agent Thomas Dalton may be developing into something more, at least for Dmitri. Blurring which side Dmitri’s on can’t continue. Hoping to get rid of his desire for Thomas, Dmitri goes to 1Night Stand for help.<br />
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Unaware of the assassin’s interest, Thomas is attracted to Dmitri as well. So, discovering Madame Eve has given the Special Agent a night with the man of his dreams seems too good to be true.<br />
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Sometimes it’s dangerous to get what you wish for. Can two men on opposite sides of the law find common ground beyond their mutual attraction? </div>
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Excerpt:<br />
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As calm a declaration of war as ever there was.<br />
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I know that voice. I’ve dreamt of that voice. Dreamt of it whispering the most carnal, arousing things to me in his dry, Midwestern baritone.<br />
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It’s because of the owner of this voice that I’m now in the predicament I’m in.<br />
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Yearning for one night with a surrogate for my very Special Agent, I’m now cornered by the actual, very genuine Thomas Dalton.<br />
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I consider the odds of a successful escape. I’m sitting, he’s standing. He’s taller, by an inch or two, but I have more muscle. I could probably take him down and get out the door, but if he has backup outside, I’m dead.<br />
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Which would be a rather disappointing end to this evening.<br />
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Remaining seated seems my best option. Maybe it’s a subconscious death wish, but I’ve been lucky before letting things play out and seizing the unexpected opportunity. I’m also in no hurry to hurt him.<br />
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Then again, I never like hurting him. The few times I’ve allowed us a protracted brawl, because, honestly, that’s a very stupid move—always go for the quick takedown or the clean getaway—I barely defended myself. Does he realize the physical risks I’ve taken just to spend a few minutes in his company?<br />
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I hope not.</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Desert-Tryst-1Night-Susanne-Saville-ebook/dp/B00Y3O5WY8?tag=authorisland20" target="_blank">LIKED THE EXCERPT?? CLICK HERE TO BUY THE eBOOK</a></div>
AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-76899185093898577772015-04-28T04:00:00.000-04:002015-04-28T08:33:41.928-04:00IT WAS ALWAYS YOU by Tianna Xander<a href="http://tiannaxander.com/it-was-always-you/" target="_blank">IT WAS ALWAYS YOU</a> by <a href="http://tiannaxander.com/" target="_blank">Tianna Xander</a><br />
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Candy only asked for a night. Will she get more than she expected?<br />
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After dreaming of him for months, Candy can’t believe the 1Night Stand dating service has found a man fitting the description of her ideal lover. After all, her dream man is no other than A-list actor, Jared Harwell, and since she’ll never have him, she’ll settle for a close match.<br />
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Shapeshifter Jared Harwell is ready to call it quits—his acting career and Hollywood lifestyle—if he can find the mate he’s searching for. But, evidently, his perfect mate is only to be found in his nocturnal dreams and the closest he’ll ever get to her is with the help of Madame Eve’s 1Night Stand service. And even then, it’s only one night with a fantasy lookalike.<br />
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Will that be enough time for Candy and Jared to realize dreams truly can come true?<br />
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Entering the bedroom, he frowned. It’s too quiet. Had she left? <br />
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“Candy?” he whispered. If she expected him, the movie star, she would recognize his voice. He had to remember to speak with a Midwestern accent at a low level and not have his brogue give him away. Not yet, anyway. He said her name softly again.<br />
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No answer.<br />
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“Candy, are you there?” he asked a bit louder. Had his accent bled through? It didn’t matter. His instructions had probably scared her, and she’d left. Shit!<br />
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“Huh, wha…?” The sleep-filled voice came from the bed. “Who’s there?”<br />
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“It’s just me, darlin’. Your date for the evening.”<br />
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“Why are you whispering?” The sheets rustled. She’d turned off the lights as he’d instructed in his letter. With the curtains drawn, the glow from the city below couldn’t penetrate the darkness. That hadn’t been part of his conditions. Had she’d closed them to even the playing field so he couldn’t see her either?<br />
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Standing in the doorway, he breathed in her perfume. The scent of peaches wafted up from the bed and gave him a hard-on from hell. The sweet scent filled his lungs. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the lingering scent bringing up sweet memories of his Candy. Still, it didn’t matter. The only thing he gave a damn about—they get along with each other and have the fantasy they wanted.<br />
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“Have you changed your mind?” He hoped not, and pictured the lingerie he’d packed in the case for her. Had she put it on, or was she wearing something of her own?<br />
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“No, I haven’t changed my mind. I’m wearing the flimsy nightgown you sent for me, aren’t I?” she asked, dryly.<br />
<a href="http://tiannaxander.com/it-was-always-you/" target="_blank">LIKED THE EXCERPT?? CLICK HERE TO BUY THE eBOOK</a><br />
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-57770044347324598842015-04-01T05:00:00.000-04:002015-04-01T05:00:00.959-04:00THE SILVER DRAGON by Tianna Xander<a href="http://tiannaxander.com/The-Silver-Dragon/" target="_blank">THE SILVER DRAGON</a> by <a href="http://tiannaxander.com/" target="_blank">Tianna Xander</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUtRswKv1QMKVxY7LGoJJwusbwHnPdG40oCsxfitqiOIkwqZphci_x1cBiD5UcbTsghyphenhyphenxNF1vF9RwViJn5Xs1Do4ir1ma4-euUHAv8NeeoUFc7sBkc6cXS-nxTkgGWYNmHMn016tvoCjY/s1600/Silver-Dragon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUtRswKv1QMKVxY7LGoJJwusbwHnPdG40oCsxfitqiOIkwqZphci_x1cBiD5UcbTsghyphenhyphenxNF1vF9RwViJn5Xs1Do4ir1ma4-euUHAv8NeeoUFc7sBkc6cXS-nxTkgGWYNmHMn016tvoCjY/s1600/Silver-Dragon.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a>Dragon Bound Series – Book 9</div>
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Living life as sister-in-law to the king of the dragons is a pain in the rump and Iris can’t wait to get out from under his thumb. She almost regrets her decision to stay with her sister Tansy when the others go to Europe, until she meets the most handsome dragon she’s ever seen. Too bad he’s so ready and willing to die.<br />
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Jean Luc d’Argent, otherwise known as the Silver Dragon has kept his secret for a long, long time. After living alone for over a thousand years, he’s ready to enter the dragon’s forever sleep, even though an ancient prophecy predicts he must help stop the end of the world. The last thing he wants is a woman mucking up his plans—even if she’s his mate.</div>
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<a href="http://tiannaxander.com/The-Silver-Dragon/" target="_blank">BUY THE eBOOK</a> *** <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Silver-Dragon-Bound-Book-ebook/dp/B00UE4BNQC?tag=authorisland-20" target="_blank"> BUY IN KINDLE</a> *** <a href="http://tiannaxander.com/The-Silver-Dragon/" target="_blank">READ THE EXCERPT</a><br />
<br /><br />EXCERPT<br /><br />“I’m not sure we should ignore Tony’s warning.” Tansy took a sip of her coffee and wrinkled her nose before dumping a generous amount of creamer into the cup. “He always makes it too strong.”<br /><br />Of course, the fact that it could be old apparently never crossed her sister’s mind. “What warning? Didn’t he say we could go out as long as we had an escort?” Iris lifted her drink, guzzled the last of her coffee, stood, and carried her cup to the sink. After rinsing it out, she placed the cup in the dishwasher, turned and faced her sister. “We have two perfectly good male dragons who can go to the mall with us, Tanz. I’m going stir crazy here.”<br /><br />Tansy shook her head. “I should have known you’d be trouble when you begged to stay with us. Why didn’t you want to go to Europe with the others?” She, too, guzzled the rest of her coffee before carrying her cup to the sink.<br /><br />Iris found out long ago that sometimes gulping down Tony’s attempts at making coffee was the only way to get her caffeine fix. “Because I have a feeling that my man is here in the states. Fat lot of good that does me,” she groused.<br /><br />How could she meet the guy if she never got out of the house? Tansy had hated their other sister April’s attempts at matchmaking so much, she refused to introduce any of her sisters to her husband’s friends more than once a month. After suffering through months of April’s weekly matchmaking parties, Tansy’s penchant for staying home and watching TV was getting on Iris’s nerves.<br /><br />Certain she’d go mad if she didn’t get out of there, and soon, Iris paced the length of the counter. She couldn’t take another minute cooped up in this-this frigging mansion with her love-struck sister. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have begged to stay here. If anything, I should have begged to go to Europe, with the rest of them, instead of insisting I stay here with you and Mister Boring.” She didn’t dare call her sister Mrs. Boring. That was a good way to get punched. They might be adults, but they would always be sisters.<br /><br />Crossing her arms, she leaned back against the counter and glared at her sister. Tansy could talk that boring husband of hers into just about anything. Why wouldn’t she talk him into getting out of the house once in a while?<br /><br />“Tansy, you’re mated now. You have come into your powers. You alone could protect us, for crying out loud.” Iris wasn’t positive of that, but she was desperate.<br /><br />Unlike Iris, Tansy had complete control over her magic. Once mated, the sisters stopped having issues with their powers. Instead of zapping up frogs, and toadstools, a mated witch conjured whatever it was she wanted. All of her married sisters had oodles of control over their magic. Iris couldn’t conjure up a glass of water.<br /><br />“I’m going to go nuts here. You know that, don’t you?” She sighed deeply, knowing her dramatics would have no effect on her sister. They never had.<br /><br />“Oh, stop being so melodramatic.” Tansy waved her hand in a dismissive arc. “Soon, everyone will return from Europe and things will be back to normal before you know it.”<br /><br />“Okay, damn it. Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?” Iris glared at Tansy. “You used to be the adventurous one. Don’t I remember you escaping Drake’s house and running off with Rose?”<br /><br />Not only did she escape but she and Rose climbed a tree, jumped over to a stone wall and then onto the ground where they hurried into a waiting taxi driven by a madman.<br /><br />“Yeah. That was before I fell in love.” Tansy batted her eyes, wearing a dreamy expression.<br /><br />The wench actually batted her eyes.<br /><br />“What’s love got to do with it?” Iris pushed away from the counter, stalked back to the table and plopped back into her seat. She had to do something before she punched Tansy so hard she wouldn’t be able to open her eyes, let alone bat her lashes at her.<br /><br />“More than you know.” Tansy’s phone rang. Reaching out, she picked it up, touched the screen and held it to her ear. “What did you need, sweetheart?”<br /><br />“Oh, God.” Iris leaned back in her seat with a glower. “Speak of the effing devil.”<br /><br />Tansy only used that tone of voice with one person—her infernal dragon.<br /><br />“Of course we can, but we’ll need some time. Iris was just saying she’d like to get out and into the fresh air for a while,” Tansy said into her phone. “It’ll take us a few minutes to change, but we should be there within the hour.”<br /><br />Be where? Iris perked up. She didn’t really care where as long as wherever it was got her out of this blasted house before she lost her mind.<br /><br />“I love you, too, darling,” Tansy whispered into the phone. She giggled at something he said. “See you soon.”<br /><br />Tansy set her phone on the table and met Iris’s gaze. “Tony wants us to meet him at O’Leary’s on Fifth Street, for dinner. His business meeting ran a little late and he wants to celebrate the acquisition of a new company.”<br /><br />“Whatever.” Iris pushed away from the table and stood. “I don’t care what his reasons are. I just want to get out of this house. Even if it’s only for a few hours.” She almost danced toward the stairs. “I’ll just go take a quick shower and change into something nice.”<br /><br />After all, a girl never knew when she might meet the man—or the dragon—of her dreams.</div>
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<a href="http://tiannaxander.com/The-Silver-Dragon/" target="_blank">LIKED THE EXCERPT?? CLICK HERE TO BUY THE eBOOK</a> </div>
AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-11492654902227768502015-03-31T05:00:00.000-04:002015-03-31T05:00:00.972-04:00OUT OF BOUNDS by Erin Nicholas<a href="http://www.erinnicholas.com/outofbounds.html" target="_blank">OUT OF BOUNDS </a>by <a href="http://www.erinnicholas.com/" target="_blank">Erin Nicholas</a><br />
<a href="http://www.erinnicholas.com/theboysoffall.html" target="_blank">The Boys of Fall Series</a><br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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All he needs is to show her it’s a win-win situation. And winning is something he takes very seriously.<br />
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Excerpt:<br />
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“Hi, Jackson.”<br />
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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.<br />
From a simple “hi”?<br />
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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.<br />
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But the moment Annabelle said, “Hi, Jackson”, he forgot about everything but wanting to know how her hair smelled. Again.<br />
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He turned to face her fully. <br />
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Damn, she looked good.<br />
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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.<br />
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The memory made him grin. “Hey, Annabelle.”<br />
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She took a deep breath and looked, if he wasn’t mistaken, a little shy. “I was wondering if you’d dance with me.”<br />
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Dance with her? Oh, really?<br />
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“I’ve never ever turned down the chance to have a beautiful woman in my arms,” he said.<br />
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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.<br />
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What the hell was going on?<br />
<br />
She smiled and the feeling got stronger.<br />
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“Great.” She started for the dance floor without waiting for him.<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
It was kind of like the difference between flirting and outright telling a guy “I want you”.<br />
<br />
The blatant “I want you” was very, very nice. But a good flirtation was equally compelling once in a while.<br />
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Jackson glanced at the other men at the bar. None were watching Annabelle walk away.<br />
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That was good. <br />
<br />
He thought he might want to keep the secret of Annabelle’s cute butt to himself.<br />
<br />
Jesus. Cute butt? <br />
<br />
Jackson started after her. When she got the edge of the dance floor, she swung to face him and the skirt swirled around her.<br />
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. <br />
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“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.<br />
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“Music thing?” <br />
<br />
“Your tattoo.”<br />
<br />
“The one on my foot?”<br />
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He lifted an eyebrow. “Is there another one?” Oh, damn, please let there be another one.<br />
<br />
“There is. In fact, there are several more.”<br />
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Yes. Now to convince her to show him where. “Several?” <br />
<br />
She grinned. “Yes.”<br />
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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.”<br />
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She blinked, then seemed to register what he was talking about. She laughed, said, “Sorry,” and stepped into his arms. <br />
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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.<br />
<br />
They began swaying and he just looked at her. Annabelle Hartington smelled like cupcakes.<br />
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Finally she asked, “What?”<br />
<br />
“Shh,” he told her. “I’m imagining your other tattoos.”<br />
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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.<br />
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Which made something hot throb deep inside Jackson. He was right where she wanted him? She wanted him anywhere?<br />
<br />
“What about them?” she asked sweetly.<br />
<br />
But he was starting to suspect there was a spicy side to Annabelle.<br />
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He tightened the arm around her, pulling her closer. “What they are. Where they are.”<br />
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She licked her bottom lip. “Why don’t you just ask me?”<br />
<br />
“My imagination is a lot of fun.”<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
And didn’t mind a bit.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
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“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.”<br />
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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. <br />
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“How many are we talking?”<br />
“Eight.”<br />
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He knew his eyes went wide. “You have eight tattoos?”<br />
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She nodded. “Seven besides the one you’ve seen.”<br />
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Of course they could be tiny. Little daisies didn’t need to take up a lot of skin. But eight? <br />
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He’d dated women with tattoos before. Lots of them, in some cases. They were gorgeous and sexy and he loved them. <br />
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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.<br />
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He liked that most of all. And he really wanted to know what they were now.<br />
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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.”</div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-63044597332654382022015-03-30T05:00:00.000-04:002015-03-30T05:00:00.137-04:00NIKKI by Michelle Levigne<a href="http://www.mlevigne.com/nikki.html" target="_blank">NIKKI </a>by<a href="http://www.mlevigne.com/" target="_blank"> Michelle Levigne</a><br />
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Quarry Hall Book Five<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<div>
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<br /><br />Excerpt<br /><br />"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.<br /><br />She didn't hear the door open, didn't feel anything until Brock caught her by her elbow and lifted her to her feet.<br /><br />"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?"<br /><br />Later, all that she could remember clearly was that he called it a baby, not a thing, a problem.<br /><br />She knew what she had to say, what she should say, but the words still caught in her throat.<br /><br />"Are you gonna abort it, or not?" He dropped her on the bed. "How long are you going to put us through this?"<br /><br />"I can't--"<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"Choose!" He threw the cover into her face and stormed out.</div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-34316347297859534292015-03-29T05:00:00.000-04:002015-03-29T05:00:00.739-04:00SPLINTERED by Sam Cheever<a href="http://samcheever.com/splintered.html" target="_blank">SPLINTERED</a> by <a href="http://samcheever.com/" target="_blank">Sam Cheever</a><br />
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Current climate in Tuktu, Alaska: Mostly sunny, with a chance of partly furry.<br />
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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?<br />
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Excerpt:<br />
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“What’s up, Doc?”<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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To cover his confusion he laughed. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”<br />
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Vivica Breckenridge chewed her bottom lip, but her smile stayed fixed. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”<br />
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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.<br />
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He had a sudden, irrepressible desire to nibble those lips.</div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-64864038767205886002015-03-28T05:00:00.000-04:002015-03-28T05:00:00.129-04:00FATE UNEXPECTED by Marisa Chenery<a href="http://www.forevermorepublishing.com/fateunexpected.html" target="_blank">FATE UNEXPECTED </a>by <a href="http://www.forevermorepublishing.com/marisachenery.html" target="_blank">Marisa Chenery</a><br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEKXEBjJ-elvlRh7LPPWSdE0tde327T9kEQ-g3z0xQikbh7Wh72Ztp8YWCrYEAs76iHmJaAvwlK8li11AxSJWIXKS7duU5abg765hMfhyphenhyphenPPcB_b7jXt2AxjocW2UnnjFnrD-maOrL2HbE/s1600/fateunexpected.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEKXEBjJ-elvlRh7LPPWSdE0tde327T9kEQ-g3z0xQikbh7Wh72Ztp8YWCrYEAs76iHmJaAvwlK8li11AxSJWIXKS7duU5abg765hMfhyphenhyphenPPcB_b7jXt2AxjocW2UnnjFnrD-maOrL2HbE/s1600/fateunexpected.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a>Earth Defender-Book One<div>
<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<div>
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<br /><br />Excerpt:<div>
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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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.</div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-43831961151683278722015-03-27T05:00:00.000-04:002015-03-27T05:00:00.745-04:00IN HER SECRET FANTASY by Marie Treanor<div>
<a href="http://www.marietreanor.com/novels/in-her-secret-fantasy/" target="_blank">IN HER SECRET FANTASY </a>by<a href="http://www.marietreanor.com/" target="_blank"> Marie Treanor</a></div>
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Book 2 of the IN series<br />
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Desire beyond imagination…danger that’s all too real.<br />
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A sequel to <a href="http://www.marietreanor.com/novels/in-his-wildest-dreams/" target="_blank">In His Wildest Dreams</a><br />
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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.<br />
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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?<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Excerpt:<br /><br />Copyright © 2015 Marie Treanor<br />All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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…<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“You okay?” Aidan said, crouching down beside her.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />And with an unpleasant jolt, he did. They hadn’t grown up together, had never met, but he knew who she was.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Are you hurt?” he asked, when she didn’t immediately answer him.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“Black ice,” he said. “Gets you every time.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />She released his hand immediately, almost flustered, he thought, and began raking through her bags. They all clanked.<br /><br />“Planning a party?” Aidan enquired.<br /><br />“I was,” she said wryly. “Ah well, less drink is good for hangovers.”<br /><br />“That much damage?”<br /><br />“Nah. Only one bottle. The beer and the whisky are safe, so who cares? Thanks for your help.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“That your car?” he asked, jerking his head towards the Land Rover.<br /><br />She nodded.<br /><br />“Mind your feet,” he advised.<br /><br />“Thanks,” she said sardonically, and in spite of himself, he grinned.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?<div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-69734036992117296632015-03-26T05:00:00.000-04:002015-03-26T05:00:00.246-04:00DANGEROUS SURRENDER by Tory Richards<a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/510692" target="_blank">DANGEROUS SURRENDER</a> by <a href="http://www.toryrichards.com/" target="_blank">Tory Richards</a><br />
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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!<br />
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<br /><br />Excerpt:<br /><br />"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. <br /><br />"There's the Red Rooster across the street. It’s a bar but they serve up sandwiches and burgers. They stay open until two."<br /><br />Great, I could walk over and get a sandwich. I held my hand out for the change.<br /><br />"Not your kind of bar." <br /><br />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?<br /><br />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."<br /><br />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? <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"Right," he said.<div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-86428598538920130012015-03-25T05:00:00.000-04:002015-03-25T05:00:01.219-04:00CRUISING THE GREEN OF SECOND AVENUE, VOL. 1 by Walt Giersbach<a href="http://www.wildchildpublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=74&products_id=457" target="_blank">CRUISING THE GREEN OF SECOND AVENUE, VOL. 1</a> by Walt Giersbach<br />
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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.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
An Excerpt from: Cruising the Green of Second Avenue<br />
Frank Cassidy and the Canarsie Chick<br />
<br />
by Walter Giersbach © 2006<br />
<br />
All rights reserved Wild Child Publishing<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
"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."<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
"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.'"<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
"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."<br />
<br />
"Frank, I am one hundred percent sympathetic."<br />
<br />
"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.<br />
<br />
"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."<br />
<br />
"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."<br />
<br />
"Hey, I used to live there. They really shot a scene there?"<br />
<br />
"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."<br />
<br />
"Don't give me details. Just cut to the chase, Frank."<br />
<br />
"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."<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
"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."<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
"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.'"<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
"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."<br />
<br />
"Frank, I am one hundred percent sympathetic."<br />
<br />
"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.<br />
<br />
"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."<br />
<br />
"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."<br />
<br />
"Hey, I used to live there. They really shot a scene there?"<br />
<br />
"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."<br />
<br />
"Don't give me details. Just cut to the chase, Frank."<br />
<br />
"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."<br />
<br />
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.</div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-81927800603908620512015-03-24T05:00:00.000-04:002015-03-24T05:00:02.699-04:00MORE THAN SHE BARGAINED FOR by Crystal Red<a href="http://www.forevermorepublishing.com/morethanshebargainedfor.html" target="_blank">MORE THAN SHE BARGAINE</a><a href="http://www.forevermorepublishing.com/morethanshebargainedfor.html" target="_blank">D FOR</a> by <a href="http://www.forevermorepublishing.com/crystalred.html" target="_blank">Crystal Red </a><br />
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Curse of the Werewolves-Book Two<br /><br />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?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.forevermorepublishing.com/morethanshebargainedfor.html" target="_blank">BUY THE eBOOK </a> *** <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00THZM610?tag=authorisland-20" target="_blank"> BUY IN KINDLE</a> *** <a href="http://www.forevermorepublishing.com/morethanshebargainedfor.html" target="_blank">READ THE EXCERPT</a><div>
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<br /><br />Excerpt<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Go away!” She sniffed and glowered at him.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />“I know.”<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />“I’m not like your other boyfriends,” he whispered.<br /><br />“And how would you know that?” She tapped her foot.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />She shuddered at his touch. “You confuse me.”<br /><br />“Beth.” He stepped closer.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Don’t fucking touch her!”<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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…<br /><br />He shook off the negative thoughts and ran toward the wolf with a pounding heart. It roared and ran off into the dark night.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Beth?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />They arrived at the hospital five minutes later. As he rushed over to the door to open it, Beth jerked up, her eyes wide.<br /><br />His heart thundered as he yanked the door open. “Beth? Are you okay?”<br /><br />“I-I don’t know,” she stuttered.<br /><br />Chad winced as pain shot through his wrist.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“It’s probably just a bruise from when I tried to save you from the werewolf that attacked you. The blood is from you.”<br /><br />She shook her head. “Your wrist could be broken. We need to get it checked out.”<br /><br />He clenched his teeth. “I’m fine. I’ll put some ice on it. Good as new.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />She looked away. “I don’t know what happened."<br /><br /><br />He draped his good arm around her waist. “You were attacked by a werewolf. You’re healed.”<br /><br />“Fine. Let’s get you checked out.”<br /><br />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.<div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-51265262565930472182015-03-23T05:00:00.000-04:002015-03-23T08:40:30.012-04:00THE HEARTBROKEN COWBOY by Melissa KeirSaddle Up with the best-selling authors who brought you Cowboy Up... And fall for Six more Cowboys ready to steal your heart!<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cowboy-Up-2-Allison-Merritt-ebook/dp/B00U4190W4?tag=authorisland-20" target="_blank">COWBOY UP 2</a><br />
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<strong>The Heartbroken Cowboy</strong> by <a href="http://www.melissakeir.com/" target="_blank">Melissa Keir</a><br />
Love isn’t found at the bottom of a bottle…<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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?</div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEmsDDi1TwMnyCmOVKP439D5HsB7uSXA_s1Tbg-phvXSuUPfyD6lxVaqXmWZRplUkXaWGhShY3GcCz5VqFYDz9LJZS-p1ki8hSr1uFFwtpULWApID_ETdakjN063M0uSzT3GduMA6jD_2/s1600/CowboyUp2GroupBundle_2500px.jpg" height="250" width="320" /></div>
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Other stories include:<br />
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<strong>Good Ride, Cowboy</strong> by Allison Merritt<br />
Sometimes all you need is one good ride to clear your head.</div>
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<strong>Cowboy in Waiting</strong> by Leslie P. Garcia<br />
She’d buried a hero. She wasn’t looking for another. But her cowboy in waiting was far from a hero…<br />
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<strong>Cowboy in Trouble</strong> by Autumn Piper<br />
A cowboy on the run and a girl on the rebound make for a messy fling.<br />
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<strong>A Cowboy’s Heaven</strong> by Sara Walter Ellwood<br />
From the hell of lost love, can they find heaven together?<br />
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<strong>Cowboy Proud</strong> by D’Ann Lindun<br />
She left town to chase her dreams... He stayed and ignored his... Can they find their dreams together?<br />
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<b>EXCERPT:</b><br />
<b><br /></b>“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.<br />
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“I don’t drink with men I don’t know.” Debra stuck out her hand. “I’m Debra, and you are?”<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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“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.<br />
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-54727239857044876622015-03-22T05:00:00.000-04:002015-03-23T09:39:39.925-04:00THE RED DRAGON by Tianna Xander<a href="http://www.extasybooks.com/The-Red-Dragon/" target="_blank">THE RED DRAGON</a> by <a href="http://tiannaxander.com/" target="_blank">Tianna Xander</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_w4b63OxJWDpspELcMNtN3xzEuFxXQE9YEGrwM80DG0FXV3jhuzkBfQ9MLuAYhcmTtBx28tJfS226hS0DkH8Mb6kW5-I9FUKGi9q2QD5ncX-6-GS8yoGXbRBScwjhNbIloVEsZRKldM/s1600/THE+RED+DRAGON.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_w4b63OxJWDpspELcMNtN3xzEuFxXQE9YEGrwM80DG0FXV3jhuzkBfQ9MLuAYhcmTtBx28tJfS226hS0DkH8Mb6kW5-I9FUKGi9q2QD5ncX-6-GS8yoGXbRBScwjhNbIloVEsZRKldM/s1600/THE+RED+DRAGON.jpg" /></a></div>
Dragon Bound # 8<br />
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What’s an older woman do when a handsome dragon decides she’s his? She goes with it.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<a href="http://www.extasybooks.com/The-Red-Dragon/" target="_blank">BUY THE eBOOK </a> *** <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Red-Dragon-Bound-Book-ebook/dp/B00TE9XMSU?tag=authorisland-20" target="_blank">BUY IN KINDLE</a> *** <a href="http://tiannaxander.com/the-red-dragon/" target="_blank">READ THE EXCERPT</a><br />
<br />EXCERPT<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />After a moment, a strange feeling pulled her, tugged her to her left. Ignoring her companions, Emily opened her eyes and began to walk.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Lowering herself to her aching knees, she reached out, slowly removing the weeds and thick heather that had tried to hide it.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-4565264859045034792015-02-15T04:00:00.000-05:002015-02-15T04:00:01.231-05:00ELITE METAL: Eight-Novel Cohesive Military Romance Boxed Set<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Elite-Metal-Eight-Novel-Cohesive-Military-ebook/dp/B00SZGM6UI?tag=authorisland-20" target="_blank">ELITE METAL</a>: Eight-Novel Cohesive Military Romance Boxed Set<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRXPAgjZyr2WKN5BHAz1BKpHOqPoiaL1JPc8jUIHkdCYCdo-aaQ6aDrUfExzut7i5qTxi9XLlHOZ0iC7rD-NnxXXZQzP0dJoS93SyqiHxo2uXfSmNS6xMfJKLs5eu3QWZWG7sDqNs57rR8/s1600/elitemetal_NL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRXPAgjZyr2WKN5BHAz1BKpHOqPoiaL1JPc8jUIHkdCYCdo-aaQ6aDrUfExzut7i5qTxi9XLlHOZ0iC7rD-NnxXXZQzP0dJoS93SyqiHxo2uXfSmNS6xMfJKLs5eu3QWZWG7sDqNs57rR8/s1600/elitemetal_NL.jpg" /></a>(Elite Warriors Book 1)<br />
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For decades the US Marines funded a top-secret unit known as Elite Recon. A deadly group of men and women sent to infiltrate dozens of countries completely undetected. Mission objectives so extreme casualties were not only probable, but expected.<br />
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The current batch of operatives had returned from hundreds of assignments unscathed…until one mission went horribly wrong. Several men lost their lives and the group disbanded. The remaining leathernecks were scattered in the wind with new identities.They were told to blend in. Be normal.Or face being forever silenced just like their fallen brothers.<br />
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Now, two years later, each living member of the group is kidnapped and given a chance to make things right. But this time they’re no longer under the thumb of Uncle Sam. A mysterious private backer who knows about their past has brought them back together. No longer are they forced to turn a blind eye to the lost and forsaken.<br />
Duty is their salvation.<br />
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A new life. A new future…Elite Metal.<br />
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Bound by Steele - Jennifer Kacey and Anna Alexander<br />
Chrome's Salvation - Jennifer Kacey<br />
Adamantium's Roar - Anna Alexander<br />
Pure Copper - Heather Long<br />
Sterling's Seduction - Sabrina York<br />
Platinum's Choice - Rebecca Royce<br />
Mercury's Poison - Saranna DeWylde<br />
Forged in Silver - Roxie Rivera<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Elite-Metal-Eight-Novel-Cohesive-Military-ebook/dp/B00SZGM6UI?tag=authorisland-20" target="_blank">BUY THE BOX SET AT AMAZON</a> *** <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-elitemetaleightnovelcohesivemilitaryromanceboxedset-1733841-166.html" target="_blank">BUY THE BOX SET AT ARe</a><br />
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Excerpt:<div>
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He was single.</div>
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<br />She seemed single.</div>
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<br />It wasn’t too long ago when he used to know how to actually talk to a woman to get her out of her panties, and he was pretty sure he could remember how to do that for the right person.</div>
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<br />The chick slowly moving away from him, digging in her purse surely for her keys could definitely be the right person.</div>
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<br />He wouldn’t know unless he actually cut the silent and deadly act and went and talked to her.</div>
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<br />He turned on his heel, moving back toward her, and he picked up the pace to try to get to her before she got to her vehicle. The lights on an SUV blinked when she hit a button on her remote control.</div>
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<br />The tiny prick on the back of his neck shot so much adrenaline into his system, all of his training came out in an explosion of instinct.</div>
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<br />He swept his leg out behind him, dropping one of his attackers. But that was it. His brain kept telling his muscles to move but as if in slow motion he hit the ground.</div>
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<br />Whatever drug pumping through his system was effective if not lethal.</div>
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<br />Another masked man dressed all in black stepped next to him just as a van pulled up beside him.<br />No squealing tires. No sound at all. Pure silence surrounded him.</div>
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<br />The door opened and two more men, dressed similarly piled out, lifting him into the confines of the unmarked vehicle. The first man grabbed his bag, which had fallen to the ground and flung it in next to him. He climbed in, shutting the door behind himself.</div>
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<br />Chrome wanted to ask questions, he willed his mouth to move but he couldn’t get his lips, much less his vocal cords, to cooperate.</div>
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<br />He’d had this drug before. His responses—he’d experienced them before.</div>
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<br />His team had been chemically trained to resist the effects of most muscular paralyzers. In their line of work the government had spared no expense.</div>
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<br />Most anyone else would have already been unconscious. But he fought just as he was trained to do.<br />The van moved but he couldn’t see anything but sky after they pulled out of the parking garage.<br />Another prick in his arm registered and he huffed out a breath. It was the only displeasure he could register before darkness sucked him under.</div>
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<br />His eyes flicked open and closed as he tried to retain consciousness.</div>
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<br />The crackle of a radio made its way past the fog trying to overtake him.</div>
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<br />“Chrome secure. ETA thirteen hours.”</div>
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<br />They found me.</div>
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<br />Whatever torture was coming, whoever thought they could break him to get what they wanted… They were shit outta luck. He’d go to his grave before he talked. Resignation filled his mind.<br />He always knew his enemies would find him eventually. Or the government found someone fast enough to dispose of him.</div>
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<br />They were quicker than he expected.</div>
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<br />The sleeping face of the little girl, and the tear-stained eyes of the woman he’d wanted flashed in front of his eyelids.</div>
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<br />He was glad they were the last people he’d ever see.</div>
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<br />And no matter what was coming he’d be dead within a matter of days.</div>
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<br />Thank God it’s finally over.</div>
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<br />Relief settled deep inside.</div>
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<br />Blackness seeped into his mind and for the first time, and hopefully the last …he didn’t fight it.</div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-12962964082713495992015-02-13T04:00:00.000-05:002015-02-13T04:00:03.463-05:00LOVE, LIES AND A BLOKE by April Fifer, Danielle Hylton-Outland<a href="http://www.fiferhylton.com/#!books" target="_blank">LOVE, LIES AND A BLOKE</a> by <a href="http://www.fiferhylton.com/" target="_blank">April Fifer</a>, <a href="http://www.fiferhylton.com/" target="_blank">Danielle Hylton-Outland</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2UEGCSem2Zl45QfGsRTNLJnmh3ZX9L9EhnchwQ18DK-a4VcGNfb1Lp-ls-U9lUgDQW8Y30gQ7xZAaGjG9f19qMxS2yf6Gw8BJZQgb9wQMChHfVYmIN_birWul02iKLMSDkLkcXGAB7Zg/s1600/loveliesandabloke.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2UEGCSem2Zl45QfGsRTNLJnmh3ZX9L9EhnchwQ18DK-a4VcGNfb1Lp-ls-U9lUgDQW8Y30gQ7xZAaGjG9f19qMxS2yf6Gw8BJZQgb9wQMChHfVYmIN_birWul02iKLMSDkLkcXGAB7Zg/s1600/loveliesandabloke.png" /></a>What do you do when you don’t know who you are…and the one you love doesn’t either?</div>
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Katherine Thomas is a lackluster kind of girl who refuses to bend the rules. Until one day she loses her job and is forced to re-evaluate her life. One trip to Australia changes her world forever. </div>
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She meets Brody, a hot and steamy man—in uniform. What she thinks is a night of fun and little lies turns out to be much more. One thing leads to another and Katherine realizes she’s in love. </div>
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When an unexpected turn of events reveals Katherine’s true story, she must fight to make Brody understand that her love is real. Will she find a way?<br />
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<br /><br />Excerpt:<br /><br />Copyright © April Fifer, Danielle Hylton-Outland 2015. All Rights Reserved, Total-E-Ntwined Limited, T/A Totally Bound Publishing.<br /><br />“Next!” Katherine shouted from behind the outdated photo booth counter. “Please sit up straight and place your shoulders back.” Her voice carried through the building, and every time she spat out that same boring sentence it would be followed by a blinding flash from the camera bulb.<br /><br />“Umm, can I at least smile?” the young girl asked, irritated and apparently over-confident just having earned her new license.<br /><br />“No,” Katherine quickly said, then snapped the picture. The young girl stomped off speedily to what Katherine could only assume was the girl’s mother.<br /><br />It’s a license, not a photo shoot, Katherine thought to herself. Katherine’s own license immediately popped into her head. Her chocolate-colored hair looked oily black and her deer-in-headlights look taunted her every time she had to display it.<br /><br />Katherine Thomas was the photo taker, and she spent her entire day standing in the same spot and shouting out the same sentence over and over. She liked to call herself a ‘photo taker’ because ‘DMV photographer’ seemed a little overkill. There was nothing glorious about snapping people’s pictures on a camera that was older than her and having them come out looking like the customers were sunburned because the machine had too much red ink in it.<br /><br />“Kathy… Kathy…” a man’s voice sang behind her.<br /><br />Katherine rolled her eyes and finally turned to face her boss, Chuck. “My name is not Kathy,” she said through clenched teeth. He was a scumbag, and sleaze saturated every ounce of his aura. She could always feel him staring at her while she stood behind the photo booth.<br /><br />When Chuck wasn’t treating her like she was an idiot, he was making sexual remarks to her. On two occasions, Katherine could have sworn he had brushed up against her ass on purpose. If she could have proven it, she probably would have nailed him square in the jaw.<br /><br />“What do you want, Chuck?”<br /><br />“I need to see you in my office,” he sputtered.<br /><br />“What an asshole,” Katherine said under her breath. She motioned for Janice, her co-worker, to come take her place. Katherine and Janice had worked together for a couple of years. Janice was very beautiful and sweet in nature. Katherine wasn’t really friends with her per se, but she did like Janice. Katherine had always thought that she had the cutest shape and gorgeous red hair.<br /><br />The line for the photos wrapped around the waiting room, and it was twenty minutes before closing. That’s how it always was. No one ever showed up in the middle of the day. It was invariably after four o’clock before the building would become overrun with human bodies everywhere.<br /><br />Katherine made it to Chuck’s office, and he was sitting behind his twenty-year-old desk made of solid oak. A vision of her leaping over his desk and strangling him flashed through her mind. She quickly shook off the image.<br /><br />“Yes, Chuck?” Katherine asked as she stood there.<br /><br />“We are getting some complaints about your behavior,” Chuck said.<br /><br />“By whom?” Katherine demanded then thought of the teenager earlier that had been one pout away from throwing a tantrum.<br /><br />“By some of the customers. You never smile, and you seem irritated all the time,” Chuck went on.<br /><br />That’s because I am, Katherine thought to herself, but remained silent.<br /><br />“This is a customer service job. You need to be more welcoming.”<br /><br />Chuck’s voice made Katherine cringe.<br /><br />“Chuck… I stand behind a camera all day taking driver’s license photos. It’s an assembly line. There is no customer service! If I stopped every person and asked them their life story, we wouldn’t close before nine.”<br /><br />“Sorry, Kathy. This is going to have to go in your review. I think you should take some time off and really think about what your future holds here at the DMV. I have scheduled for Janice to take your place for the rest of this week. You can go ahead and leave now, and we will see you back next week.”<br /><br />A smile hinted across Chuck’s face, and the vision Katherine had earlier of strangling him popped back up in her mind. Katherine stared at him for a moment, knowing what was to come next.<div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-44159120258722487612015-02-12T04:00:00.000-05:002015-02-12T04:00:03.316-05:00WHO CANNOT SEE by BA Tortuga<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjci_gZvbszRJBmJl3sIwP0WhoFaNkFr0TT6Pqk2Er9DBAaKXwFV6qBQoyXqAXjXH9KIpHNe0U00Rm-Er8GyTRB-ZC4MT7KhTbo3IvvW85fpaa95OZ6JaDwYHjUJWUjL2M5-ZZn2gpCL0E/s1600/Who+Cannot+See.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjci_gZvbszRJBmJl3sIwP0WhoFaNkFr0TT6Pqk2Er9DBAaKXwFV6qBQoyXqAXjXH9KIpHNe0U00Rm-Er8GyTRB-ZC4MT7KhTbo3IvvW85fpaa95OZ6JaDwYHjUJWUjL2M5-ZZn2gpCL0E/s1600/Who+Cannot+See.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=79_93&products_id=4283" target="_blank">WHO CANNOT SEE</a> by <a href="http://www.batortuga.com/" target="_blank">BA Tortuga</a></div>
<br /><br />Blaze is on the run for being caught with another man, and the posse on his trail will never give up. Not that Blaze cares, half dead as he is from thirst and a near hanging.<br /><br />Vampire Edmund is long past being interested in human affairs, but when he finds Blaze in his barn, he feels a deep connection that goes beyond sight. Can he save this young man and teach Blaze that their love is nothing to be ashamed of?<br /><br />This story is also included in <a href="http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=76&products_id=4281">Eternally Dark Anthology</a>.<br />
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<br />Excerpt:<br /><br />Please, God. <div>
<br />He’d done walked for days, hiding when he saw folks, knowing his mark of shame would be enough to send folks running for their rifles, and God knew he weren’t in no shape to outrun a bullet.<br />He’d done used up every ounce of luck he’d ever earned himself. </div>
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<br />Blaze Vernon swallowed, the fire in his throat bigger than the hunger that gnawed at him. Wasn’t going to be the hunger that killed him, though. No sir.</div>
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<br />That was going to be the thirst. He’d managed a few drinks, the first days after the hanging rope broke on him, but not since. His throat was closed tighter than a nun’s business and the bubbling creek laughed at him, all that clean mountain water a taunt he couldn’t take in.</div>
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<br />He leaned against a good-sized aspen, sucking air.</div>
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<br />Three days he’d been up among the gray-barked trunks, the leaves shaking in the breeze and making him watch his back trail. He had a feeling he was going in circles. </div>
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<br />Maybe tonight would be the night he froze. He prayed it would be painless. </div>
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<br />The trees moaned, a heavy gust of wind signaling the coming night. The mountains got downright mean at dusk.</div>
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<br />Please God. He just needed somewhere safe to sleep, pray that he could heal enough to drink, to have a bite of food. Then he could head for California. A man could begin again there, he heard.</div>
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<br />Blaze staggered, then righted himself, hand on a tree trunk. He couldn’t stay right where he was, so he turned in a full circle, squinting into the gathering dark.</div>
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<br />Whoa, now. Was that a light?</div>
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<br />Okay. </div>
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<br />Okay. That was a tiny sliver of flickering fire. A lamp, perhaps.</div>
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<br />He forced himself to follow it, to stumble forward, shamble along. His feet dragged through the fallen leaves, his toes cold from the holes in his boots.</div>
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<br />There was a light. A house, even, although his eyes couldn’t believe the size of it. How had he not seen this before now? The place looked like a storybook castle, one his momma might have talked about from the old country, her Irish lilt dearly missed. </div>
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<br />Anything this size would have barns, outbuildings, yes? He stayed to the heaviest shelter of the trees, the snow beginning to fall as he searched. Yes. Hidden away behind the huge stone edifice were smaller, neatly kept outbuildings. A place to sleep. </div>
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<br />He crept across the clearing, staying low, nearly crawling as he wheezed and grunted each painful step out. His hands started to bleed, his skin so dry it began to crack. If he didn’t freeze, he’d blow away.</div>
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<br />Please God, he prayed again. I just need to sleep.</div>
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<br />The barn door opened when he tugged, the rollers well-oiled so no sound came from it. Hallelujah.<br />He closed the snow and the wind out, finding an empty stall, clean straw. He collapsed into it with a soft sob. The sound tore his throat, choking him a bit. </div>
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<br />Thank you, he thought. Better to die here than frozen in woods to not be found ‘til spring. He didn’t have the energy to dig into the straw or to try and find a blanket.</div>
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<br />He wasn’t sure it would make a difference, anyhow. Death was a’comin’. It was just a matter of time.</div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-73477528085421465472015-02-11T04:00:00.000-05:002015-02-11T04:00:07.974-05:00ENEMY LOVERS by Shelley Munro <a href="http://www.shelleymunro.com/books/enemy-lovers/" target="_blank">ENEMY LOVERS</a> by <a href="http://www.shelleymunro.com/" target="_blank">Shelley Munro </a><br />
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Love might be waiting in enemy territory…<br />
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Clare Chronicles, Book 2<br />
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When Dallas O’Grady’s attention is hooked by a sexy rear end bent over a flat tire, he naturally pulls over to help. Then he gets a look at her face and realizes she’s one of those Drummonds.<br />
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The Drummonds and the O’Gradys might both live in the town of Clare, but they’ve never played nice, not since a generations-old feud started over a cache of stolen gold nuggets.<br />
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Laura Drummond has fought long and hard to grip independence by the throat and avoid her mother’s bulldozing attempts to control her life. She’s always admired Dallas from afar, and she’s pleased to discover that up close, he’s gorgeous, sexy, and nothing like the monster her family has painted.<br />
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When the road home is blocked, she’s forced to accept his offer of a bed for the night. One thing leads to another, and soon burning hot-desire melts into thoughts of forging a permanent relationship—damn their families’ disapproval.<br />
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But the feud isn’t the only thing conspiring to keep the lovers apart. And the clock is ticking…<br />
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Warning: Contains lovers determined to challenge the status quo, lots of sexy times, and a feud that just might destroy all their hopes for a happy future.<br />
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Excerpt:<br /><br />Copyright © 2015 Shelley Munro<br />All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication<br /><br />Whoa. Dallas O’Grady caught a glimpse of blonde hair seconds before the woman kicked her flat tire. She owned the sexiest arse he’d seen in months. Without another thought, he pulled his truck onto the shoulder and climbed out to offer assistance.<br /><br />“Problem?”<br /><br />“My brother is an idiot.” Her lyrical voice held the same crisp chill of the wind whistling across the Napier road. She turned, and he caught a friendly smile belying her words. “Thanks for stop— You!”<br /><br />The smile skidded away.<br /><br />Hard drops of rain fell on Dallas’s face, the sleeves of his brown leather jacket, as he eyeballed a very sexy, very grown-up Laura Drummond. His gaze shifted to the gray, washed out clouds, the sky building to dense black on the horizon, then to the rear tire on her late model sedan. “Fine, if you don’t want my help, I’ll be leaving.”<br /><br />“No, please.” Her hand shot out to halt his retreat. “I’m sorry.”<br /><br />“Sorry you’re hobnobbing with the enemy?” He spelled out what they were both thinking. Their parents would issue horrendous battle cries if they witnessed this scene, saw the pair inhaling the same air, let alone engaging in something civil like a conversation.<br /><br />She swept a strand of blonde hair away from her pink lips. “You’re not my enemy. I don’t know you.” She stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets, hunched her shoulders against the rain and stamped her feet. “Look, I’m grouchy. I have a flat. My brother borrowed my spare last week and told me he put it back. My phone is dead, and I’m not going to make Clare in time for my cousin’s hen party. My mother will make dolls in my image and stick pins in them.”<br /><br />“My brother said there’s a slip partially blocking the road leading into the town, near the Shannon Pass. If it keeps raining, they might close the roads, if they haven’t already. You wouldn’t make it even if your car was drivable.”<br /><br />“Yep, I’m screwed,” she said.<br /><br />No, she wasn’t—not yet, but he’d love to take that thought to its logical conclusion. While their families might harbor long-standing grudges, his dick wasn’t sticking with the program. The skinny Laura Drummond from his vague school-day memories had grown into a classy woman. Her brown eyes glinted with intelligence while her mouth…<br /><br />Dallas tore his gaze off her because his inappropriate thoughts bore repercussions. For one—a painful hard-on. And two, no way could he cozy up with the enemy.<br /><br />He cleared his throat. “What do you want to do? I can give you a lift to Clare and hope we’ll make it past the slip, or I can ring for a breakdown truck.”<br /><br />The rain was coming down harder now, icy crystal pellets pummeling his cheeks. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, worried it then nodded a decisive agreement.<br /><br />“Let me grab my purse and overnight bag,” she said. “I’ll grab a ride and chance my luck. The slip might have been cleared already.”<br /><br />Dallas told himself not to look, but when she bent over to retrieve her bag, his eyes zeroed in on her arse.<br /><br />Down boy.<br /><br />God, he hadn’t experienced this sort of reaction to a woman for a long time.<br /><br />Shaking the lust away, he accepted her bag and stowed it behind the driver’s seat. He straightened, his mind leaping straight to her and sexual desire. Man, he was weak. Giving in to his libido, he watched her lock her sedan and splash through puddles to join him.<br /><br />“You don’t resemble your sisters and brother.” They were dark-haired, her sisters both shorter than Laura.<br /><br />“Nope, everyone says I’m the cuckoo in the nest.” She peeled off her wet raincoat and slid her long legs into his vehicle. “Ugh, it’s bucketing down out there. I’m lucky you came along.”<br /><br />She was still talking when Dallas climbed behind the wheel. Nervous? He grunted, started his truck and pulled on to the road, trying to ignore the unpleasant sensation of water dripping down his neck.<br /><br />“I take after my great-grandmother on my mother’s side. They say I’m her twin.”<br /><br />Dallas nodded while his mind trotted back to the more pleasant occupation of imagining this woman naked and engaged with him in things carnal. A whoosh of heat replaced the chill of wet clothes.<br /><br />“What are you going to do if the road is closed?” she asked.<br /><br />“My cabin is on this side.”<br /><br />“Oh.”<br /><br />“Are you wondering what I’m going to do with you if the road is closed?”<br /><br />“Please.” A strangled laugh emerged from her, tinged with a healthy dose of uncertainty. “I doubt you’d do away with me.”<br /><br />“But you’re not too sure?” He set the window wipers to a faster speed and eased up on the accelerator, not taking his attention off the road. “I am one of those O’Gradys.”<br /><br />“Positive.” She slanted him an ice-princess look, lifted that elegant nose just so. “I’m pretty sure you’re not hiding horns under your hair, although you might be concealing a tail. Even so, I’m confident I’ll get through this ordeal unscathed. I’ll grab a ride back to Napier. There’s bound to be someone heading to the city.”<br /><br />Dallas barked out a laugh, amused at her sly humor lurking beneath the hauteur. She didn’t act like any Drummond he’d come into contact with in the past. He’d thought he might have consigned himself to an hour of chilly silence—more than an hour in these driving conditions. But she’d tossed his assumptions on their butt, and he found himself wanting to explore her mentally. Ditto the physical.<br /><br />“What do you do for a job?” He shot her a quick glance, caught the wrinkling of her nose.<br /><br />“My mother organized a place for me at a charity. I’m working for them at present, but I’d prefer a position with more challenge.”<br /><br />“What sort of employment are you looking for?” Hearsay said Laura’s older sisters had never worked in their lives. They’d done the socialite thing, found rich husbands and married. They were now popping out a new generation of Drummonds to heap down hate on the O’Grady family.<br /><br />“I enjoy organizing things, which makes me a natural in the administration field.”<br /><br />“Are you good with computers?”<br /><br />“Not bad. Any program I don’t know, I can learn. I’m a quick study.” Her chin lifted a fraction as if she expected him to challenge her statement.<br /><br />Again, he found a smile pushing his lips for escape. He enjoyed a woman who surprised him. “If you weren’t a Drummond, I’d offer you a job.”<br /><br />“What sort? What do you do?”<br /><br />Again, not the reaction he’d expected. “My brothers and I own a couple of Irish bars in Napier, and I have several rental properties. It’s getting too much for me to handle the paperwork along with the day-to-day things.” The pub where he had his office wasn’t in the best part of town. Nah, he couldn’t see Laura slumming it at O’Grady’s. “We’re thinking of buying the old pub in Clare.”<br /><br />“The one that closed down due to fire damage?”<br /><br />“Yeah.” Dallas peered through the windshield, not taking his eyes off the road.<br /><br />“Can I interview for the job?”<br /><br />Dallas slowed even further until his truck crawled. Closer to the Shannon Pass, the rain slapped the windows, obliterated the scenery. What he could see of the sky was a sullen gray and lightning flashed in the distance, followed by a rumble of thunder. “You want to work in a pub? Maybe I should check you for horns and a tail. You have an impish sense of humor.”<br /><br />“I’m not joking,” she said, and he felt the weight of her gaze. “But if you want to check me for devilish signs you go right ahead. I might enjoy it.”<br /><br />Dallas opened his mouth, shut it again, risked a swift glance in her direction. A tiny grin played around her luscious lips. Oh yeah. She was pleased with herself. “I’m an O’Grady, sweetheart. I don’t possess the right bloodlines for you.”<br /><br />“My parents want me to marry James Summerville.”<br /><br />Another glance away from the road. Her big brown eyes held silent messages, and it took him an extended second to grasp the stray snippets of gossip and knit them together. His lips pursed in a silent whistle. “Isn’t he gay?”<br /><br />“Yup, but James wants marriage. A… Sorry, you don’t want to hear about me.” Laura wiped a round circle on the passenger side window. A polite dismissal of the subject. “I don’t like the look of this rain. If anything it’s getting worse.”<br /><br />“It’s not looking promising,” he agreed, deciding to let her get away with the change of topic. “Not wedding weather.”<br /><br />“My cousin was set on an early spring wedding. Heck, I picture her stamping her foot and having a full-blown tantrum about the weather. She should’ve listened to the wedding planner. This time of year is always unpredictable.” Wily amusement colored her voice, and Dallas found his lips quirking. He fought the need to fall into a full-out smile of delight. If she’d been anyone else, he’d proposition her, offer her a cozy weekend of hot sex at his cabin.<br /><br />But that wasn’t gonna happen.<br /><br />She was a Drummond.<div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-91684013805454676652015-02-10T04:00:00.000-05:002015-02-10T09:14:02.862-05:00ALL THAT MATTERS by Erin Nicholas<a href="http://www.erinnicholas.com/allthatmatters.html" target="_blank">ALL THAT MATTERS</a> by <a href="http://www.erinnicholas.com/" target="_blank">Erin Nicholas</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPVSqUJhTgq5XRHPgXGBurHp8B8LpFtX2cax06JbnS4DlCof8wzlEQ5Mdn0p10ftsB7Zphk9TiJT4PXU-sKzFZik-Mx1buucyPRh-8LPjr8cLNMPCb6jJ1xSw-LYdULAZAbUFNjZ-5X0/s1600/AllThatMatters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPVSqUJhTgq5XRHPgXGBurHp8B8LpFtX2cax06JbnS4DlCof8wzlEQ5Mdn0p10ftsB7Zphk9TiJT4PXU-sKzFZik-Mx1buucyPRh-8LPjr8cLNMPCb6jJ1xSw-LYdULAZAbUFNjZ-5X0/s1600/AllThatMatters.jpg" /></a>The Billionaire Bargains, Book 3<br />
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Will Weston knows Emily Steele is too good for him. She's too good for any of the guys he knows-even if he does know an astonishing number of suave, handsome millionaires. But Emily's special. And he thought so even before he realized he had a little crush on his boss's niece.<br />
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Emily Steele would definitely consider herself intelligent and worldly. Born into privilege, she's been exposed to travel, culture and the best education. A billionaire's daughter, Emily is used to having everything she could ever need or want-cars, clothes, trips. But she isn't used to being single. When she decides she needs a break from her eight year relationship with the only boy she's ever even dated, Emily realizes she has a lot to learn. About the world and herself. And men. Definitely about men.<br />
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A friend's bachelorette party in New Orleans is the perfect place to get in touch with her inner vixen. Some drinking, dancing, flirting and fun seems like a great plan. Too bad she knows nothing about flirting. And has never actually met her inner vixen.<br />
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When Emily's uncle insists that his assistant, Will, accompany Emily to New Orleans, he knows it's not a good idea. The minute she was single, he suddenly became all too aware of how beautiful, charming and interesting she is. And that can only mean trouble. But when Emily offers Will's best friend a million dollars to be her date for the weekend instead, there is no way Will is staying behind.<br />
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Warning: Contains a woman with enough money to buy a date for a weekend in New Orleans, a guy who's never going to let that happen, a bachelorette party on Bourbon Street, hot sex to slow jazz and beignets... because there has to be beignets.<br />
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Excerpt:<br /><br />Copyright © 2015 Erin Nicholas<br />All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication<br /><br />She took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ve been eating strawberry ice cream for eight years, and now I want to try something new, but I don’t think I should go straight for the double-fudge-brownie sundae with whipped cream and nuts. I need to start smaller—maybe a double scoop of white chocolate with some colored sprinkles or something.”<br /><br />Will leaned on the counter top with one elbow and tried to be cool. He wanted to be patient, make her feel comfortable opening up to him, but there was a tension coiling in his gut, pushing him to figure this out. “Sorry, you’re going to have to spell it out more for me here.”<br /><br />She looked annoyed. “Chad is the life preserver,” she said. “Now I’m swimming without him there to make me feel safe. I need to start swimming on my own, take some lessons, figure out what I can do and what I’m comfortable with, but I need to start in the shallow end. That’s Gus.”<br /><br />Will studied her face, thinking back over her analogy. “Who are the big waves?”<br /><br />She blushed.<br /><br />“Me?” he asked, hoping it was him.<br /><br />She nodded and the tension let go slightly.<br /><br />Will felt his mouth stretch into a grin. “I’m the big waves, huh?”<br /><br />She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”<br /><br />He really liked that. Except… “Wait, you’re scared of the big waves?”<br /><br />She focused on the water bottle again, pressing her lips together.<br /><br />He reached out and picked the bottle up, bringing it up next to his face so she had to look at him.<br /><br />“You’re scared of me, Emily?” He tried to say it gently, but he had to resist the urge to growl the question. He hated that idea. And he didn’t understand it. He’d never done anything to make her feel she couldn’t trust him.<br /><br />Her blush deepened. She shook her head. “Not scared.”<br /><br />He breathed.<br /><br />“Intimidated maybe,” she said. “I’m just not sure I’m quite…ready for you.”<br /><br />Ready for him. His imagination took that in all kinds of directions. Directions that, yeah, would probably intimidate her.<br /><br />Okay, intimidation. He didn’t like that any better though. What had he done to make her feel anything less than comfortable around him?<br /><br />But then he recalled something she’d said. “And who’s the double-fudge-brownie sundae?”<br /><br />Double-fudge brownies weren’t scary. They were tempting. Maybe bad for you in some ways, but also very good in many ways. His heart started thumping. He was really hoping there wasn’t someone else that she was tempted by but not ready for. But it was him. He knew it was him.<br /><br />She sighed, not looking intimidated at all. “You know it’s you. And Gus is the double scoop with colored sprinkles.”<br /><br />Will started to reply, thought better of what he was going to say but then said it anyway. “Are we talking about sex here?”<br /><br />Her gaze dropped to the counter top. “Kind of.”<br /><br />Damn, they were talking about sex. And her being tempted but not ready for him. And her wanting Gus instead.<br /><br />Will’s eyebrows slammed together. “So you’re asking Gus to be your date in New Orleans because you’re trying to start slow on the sex thing?”<br /><br />There was no way in hell that Gus was having sex with Emily. No. Way.<br /><br />She shook her head quickly. “Not sex. That’s why Gus is a good choice. I can relax with him, we can dance and flirt and stuff, but it won’t be more than that.” Suddenly, she straightened and frowned at Will. “You think I would pay Gus to have sex with me?”<br /><br />He held his hands up. “I’m just trying to get on the same page here.”<br /><br />“Not sex,” she said firmly. “That’s just it. I’m not ready for that.”<br /><br />And a huge, tempting, horrible realization hit Will directly in the gut. She wasn’t ready for him.That meant she’d been thinking of him sexually. She wasn’t ready but that meant she’d considered it. That meant she’d been tempted by it. She was turning down the brownie sundae but that didn’t mean she didn’t want it.<br /><br />Will pulled in a slow breath, trying to cool off.<br /><br />“This will be the first guy I dance with or flirt with or even spend a lot of time with since Chad.”<br /><br />“But you and I couldn’t dance and flirt and spend time together?” And in that moment, Will wanted all of that.<br /><br />Her cheeks were still pink when she nodded.<br /><br />“Because…” he prompted.<br /><br />“I don’t think it would be just that.”<br /><br />Heat hit him hard. She was attracted to him, tempted, had given it enough thought to decide that he was too much for her. Just the idea that Emily had contemplated what it would be like to be with him made him hot and bothered.<div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-91604424151985976812015-02-08T04:00:00.000-05:002015-02-08T04:00:06.923-05:00SENSUAL DELIGHTS by Kate Richards<div>
<a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-sensualdelights-1652181-177.html" target="_blank">SENSUAL DELIGHTS</a> by <a href="https://katerichards.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Kate Richards</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/storeSearch.html?searchBy=series&qString=Cookie+Club+Romance">Cookie Club Romance</a> Book 4</div>
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Hannah Prynne, proprietor of Sensual Delights, small-town purveyor of fine bath and body products has just about everything she needs to be happy. Her business is growing, as is her daughter, Pansy, and she’s achieving some success at regaining her family’s ancestral magic. Her single foray into romance ended with the guy bailing the second she learned she was pregnant. So she’s a little lonely. She’ll just avoid her sexy new neighbor and rely on her childhood friends. They may be far away but they always have her back.</div>
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<br />Jerrin Stryder’s lineage reaches all the way back to Merlin, jet-setting wizards who have more money and magic than they know what to do with. And an attitude to match. In an effort to find real happiness, Jerrin takes on a “normal” magic-free life in a ramshackle fixer-upper…next door to Hannah, who isn’t quite the “normal” woman he thinks she is.</div>
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<br />Can a witch with a desire for power and a wizard attempting to flee it find happiness in one another’s arms? The sparks are there, if they only let them burst into flame.</div>
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<br /><br />Excerpt:All her cookie club girlfriends had waxed enthusiastic at her description of the neighbor with his dark hair, dark eyes, and enticing body. And when she whispered the news that he was standing in the window, looking over at her house—while she sat in her nightgown, chatting with them—they encouraged her to stop chatting and wave him over.<div>
<br />The house had been vacant so long, she hadn’t even thought of anyone being able to see her from there—but she hadn’t moved or pulled the curtains.</div>
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<br />Then he closed the blinds, and she breathed a sigh of relief and disappointment. Headed for the kitchen to make some jasmine tea.</div>
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<br />I guess he went to bed. Flannel isn’t his thing.</div>
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<br />She returned with her mug and froze. Half a dozen flimsy nighties and a thong lay scattered around the room. She broke into laughter, unable to stay pouty with such good friends.</div>
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<br />Hannah lifted the tablet and tried to glower. “Who did this?”</div>
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<br />As the girls chorused denial—at least one lying through her teeth—the thud of boots on the porch froze her mid-giggle. She tiptoed to peek through the peephole.</div>
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<br />“He’s here, what should I do?”</div>
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<br />One by one, her friends blinked out. They’d come back on and talk about her behind her back once she went offline. Bitches.</div>
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<br />But they loved her, and they were right. A woman didn’t just ignore a handsome hunk who came to call—especially a woman five years out from her last sexual experience. Who ever said witches were sluts?</div>
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<br />She opened the door.</div>
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<br />“Jerrin?” Halfway down the steps, he spun to face her. “Hi, did you need something?” A quickie maybe? With her mind made up, her only concern was keeping things quiet enough to not wake Pansy.</div>
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<br />“I saw your light on and thought maybe you couldn’t sleep either.”</div>
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<br />Not quite ten o’clock. Sure, insomnia is rampant when only farmers are in bed.</div>
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<br />“I was just chatting online with some friends.” She stepped back, clearing the doorway. “Would you like to come in? Have a cup of jasmine tea?”</div>
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<br />“Sure, if it’s not too much trouble.” Whiskey scented his breath. But he didn’t stumble or slur his words. Maybe he’d just had a drink since he couldn’t sleep. Old man’s hours indeed.</div>
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<br />“No trouble at all. I made a whole pot. Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll get you a cup.” She scooted into the kitchen, her heart beating fast. Easy to be brave, when the man in question was outside, but now that he stood in her living room, could she go through with it?</div>
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<br />Not that he’d asked.</div>
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<br />What if he did?</div>
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<br />What if he didn’t?</div>
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<br />Returning with the cup and a plate of non-spelled oatmeal bars—she’d need to get that chocolate milk when she drove Pansy to school—she found him in the middle of the room, facing away from her. “Don’t you want to sit down?” Hannah set the cookies on the coffee table and straightened.</div>
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<br />Jerrin turned toward her and waved a hand toward the couch. “Where?”</div>
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<br />In horror, she took in the furniture littered with skimpy lingerie. “Give me a minute.” She gathered the offending garments and took them into her bedroom, tossing them in a corner and pausing a moment to let the heat in her cheeks die down from a raging furnace. She considered changing clothes, not to one of the nighties—because her humiliation had killed any plans of seduction she’d held—but maybe to sweats. Deciding to brave it out, she smoothed her many-times-washed, comforting flannel and glided back into the living room.</div>
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<br />Jerrin sat on the couch, arms stretched over the back. “Lingerie party?”</div>
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<br />Her cheeks flooded with heat again. “Gag gifts from friends, I, uh…needed to put them away.”</div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-28670298384147428902015-02-07T04:00:00.000-05:002015-02-07T04:00:04.760-05:00TIGERS LIKE IT HOT by Tianna Xander<a href="http://tiannaxander.com/tigers-like-it-hot/" target="_blank">TIGERS LIKE IT HOT</a> by <a href="http://tiannaxander.com/" target="_blank">Tianna Xander</a><br />
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Caspian Cascade # 1<br />
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Who knew shape shifters exist and they adore curvy, full-figured women?<br />
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When Jessi decides to leave her home town for the second time, she and her best friend Kelly devise a plan. They’ve researched six different towns, they’ve drawn the orders of their visits from a hat and they’re determined to stick to the new path they’ve set out for themselves.<br />
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When Gareth and Mac set out in search of a mate, they didn’t expect company in the form of two unwanted tag-along friends, and they certainly didn’t expect their sort of well-laid plans to grind to a screeching halt in a town they had never even heard of before. <br />
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How did they all end up in the town dubbed Halloween town for the week when none of them had even planned to stop there for anything more than lunch?<br />
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<br />Excerpt:<br /><br />“That’s it! I’ve had it.” Jessi snarled as she stalked into the apartment she shared with her best friend, Kelly. “I’ve had it. I am so out of here. Just watch how fast I’m outta here. Your head will spin.”<br /><br />Throwing her purse on the couch, she stomped to the coat closet and pulled her suitcases out. One by one, she dragged them into her room and hefted them up onto the bed. After hoisting the last one up, she unzipped them and started pulling her dresser drawers out, which she unceremoniously dumped into the open bags.<br /><br />“What’s the matter?” Kelly leaned against the door frame, her arms crossed, a little crease between her brows. “What are you doing?”<br /><br />“I’m leaving. That’s what I’m doing.” Jessi waved her hand above her head. “I’ve had it up to here with Billy’s innuendo and Bobby’s pawing. Let them find some other girl to torment. I’m not taking it anymore.”<br /><br />Tears burned her eyes as she thought about leaving home again. It wasn’t the town she would miss. It was Kelly who would fill her thoughts as she drove away, leaving this town in the dust for the last time. At least she wouldn’t leave Kelly penniless. She’d managed to invest her way into a sizable bank account over the years. While she had a larger bank account than Kelly’s, it wasn’t much larger. The money she’d saved and invested for them both over the time she’d lived and worked in the city, if they continued to invest it wisely, would last the rest of their lives.<br /><br />“I should have known that I could never come home.” She dashed the tears away with the back of her hand. “Why can’t those jerks just leave me alone?”<br /><br />For whatever reason, the people in town, mainly the guys she grew up with, wouldn’t forget her wild youth. They reminded Kelly of it constantly. What had made her think that she would be any different?<br /><br />Every person in town was guilty of doing something they weren’t proud of doing when they were younger. Yet, they constantly reminded her that she wasn’t perfect, and she wasn’t wife material. She and Kelly were good enough to screw any man in town—not that they would do that anymore—but they drew the line at a one-night-stand. Apparently, the men in town had never made it into the modern world. They still held their women to different standards. Jessi hated that.<br /><br />So what that she’d had low self-esteem when she was younger? What difference did it make that she had done the very thing that every man in town had done at one time or another in their adolescence. <br /><br />“I just can’t take it anymore.” Jessi shook her head and sighed. A year was already too long to put up with that crap. “This time when I leave, I’m never coming back here.”<br /><br />Jessi stared at the clothes haphazardly piled in her bags. Her shoulders drooped at the thought of losing her best friend, yet again. She turned to Kelly. “I’ll miss you.” Her voice cracked as she barely kept herself from bawling. She felt like she did fifteen years ago, all over again.<br /><br />“No you won’t.”<br /><br />“What do you mean, I won’t miss you? Of course, I will! You’re my best friend.” Did Kelly think she didn’t really care?<br /><br />“You won’t miss me because…” Kelly paused, then grinned. “I’m going with you this time. If you think I’m going to let you leave me here again, you’re out of your cotton pickin’ mind.”<br /><br />“B-but why would you leave your home, too?”<br /><br />Kelly tilted her head and stared at her with a frown. “Do you think those asshats treat me any differently than they treat you?” She shook her head. “I’m sick to death of it, too.” She sat up, clapped her hands together and grinned. “I say we get the hell out of this little Podunk town and find a place where we can really live!” She headed for the doorway, presumably to go pack. “When does our adventure begin?”<div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-78891786994814918782015-02-06T04:00:00.000-05:002015-02-06T08:33:56.316-05:00RIDING SHOTGUN by Anne Kane<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Riding-Shotgun-Mercenaries-Anne-Kane-ebook/dp/B00OGRCZRE?tag=authorisland-20" target="_blank">RIDING SHOTGUN</a> by <a href="http://www.annekane.com/" target="_blank">Anne Kane</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSS7BRZMNwsHF5Bo9bVjPQpyeRrkYQtOI4tcOpQiJi-DXSp_xftGdp_e97ba0_8zAtOkd7lveG3iDalO9et8DKGwalrmu5fYUh7TijoYQQ1E9uahAwzNE8VUSdEIdyGA47Th1REBBGmB0/s1600/Riding+Shotgun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSS7BRZMNwsHF5Bo9bVjPQpyeRrkYQtOI4tcOpQiJi-DXSp_xftGdp_e97ba0_8zAtOkd7lveG3iDalO9et8DKGwalrmu5fYUh7TijoYQQ1E9uahAwzNE8VUSdEIdyGA47Th1REBBGmB0/s1600/Riding+Shotgun.jpg" /></a>Mercenaries 3<br />
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She was a genetic experiment that was never supposed to get out of the lab. If the government finds her, they will kill her without hesitation. She's a crack shot, though, and she's used to looking out for herself. Her affinity for all things mechanical helps her make a living on the underground street racing circuit, but it's a dangerous game, and lately things haven't been going so well.<br />
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Shotgun falls hard from the first time he meets her, and is determined to make her his own. When accidents keep plaguing Kalie's car, he gets suspicious and with the help of his mercenary buddies he is determined to find the source of the problem and keep his woman safe.<br />
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<br />Excerpt:Riding Shotgun (Mercenaries 3)<br />Anne Kane<br />All rights reserved.<br />Copyright ©2014 Anne Kane<br /><br />This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.<br /><br />A subtle movement on the far ridge caught Shotgun's attention. It could be a deer on the far ridge, but he doubted it. Moving the scope of his rifle in a slow sweep, he searched for the cause. There. On the west slope. A faint flash as the late afternoon sun reflected off a metal surface.<br /><br />He kept the rifle trained on the spot, his trigger finger itching, and sure enough, there she was. A sharpshooter. Her rifle looked suspiciously similar to his own, and she handled it like a pro. Her mistake had been not making sure all the shiny metal was covered up.<br /><br />Her outfit blended well with the surrounding rocks and he had to give her credit for finding a good vantage point. She'd managed to position herself in a wide crack in between two large outcrops of rock. Her back was protected by a sheer wall of granite. An irregular jumble of boulders in front of her gave her numerous places to rest the barrel of her rifle.<br /><br />He recognized her from the portfolio Brice had shown them of the Lost Children. Kalie. Her riotous mop of long dark curls was held back behind a wide hairband, and the camo outfit she wore covered her deliciously ripe curves. He was too far away to see if her eyes really were as dark and sensual as they looked in her picture, but he was sure it was Kalie.<br /><br />Her undivided attention was on the gathering in the clearing below. That would be her second mistake. Just because you're hunting, doesn't mean you aren't also being hunted. As he glanced around, gauging the distance between them and the amount of cover available, he felt the corner of his mouth lift in a slow grin.<br /><br />Nothing like a bit of a challenge to liven up the evening.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />The man came out of nowhere. Jerking her rifle out of her hands, he flipped her over and slammed her body into the ground. The breath whooshed out of her in one long exhale as he pinned her to the ground with his superior weight. Instinctively, she tried to bring her knee up to fend him off.<br /><br />"I don't think that's such a good idea, little girl." His voice was low, a thread of humor running through it as he blocked the move with a casual flick of his leg. He could afford to be amused. He was planted firmly on top of her, and her rifle was no longer snugged comfortingly against her chin. She eyed up the distance to the weapon. Too far.<br /><br />A fierce anger enveloped her, fueled by an unfamiliar feeling of helplessness. No one snuck up on her like that. No one. Taking a deep breath, she forced her body to relax. She could get out of this. If he thought she'd given up, he'd let his guard down.<br /><br />"Who are you?" She spat the words out between clenched teeth, betraying her fury. So much for letting him think she'd given up.<br /><br />"Name's Shotgun, Kalie. I'm with Saralyn down there, and her new beau. Just kind of keeping an eye on the situation when I noticed you over here. I don't like people watching my friends through the scope of a rifle."<br /><br />"Really?" He knew her name. Shit. He probably knew about the other girls as well. Her sisters. That couldn't be good. She needed to neutralize him quickly and let them know they'd been found out. She shifted her weight, as if trying to get more comfortable. "Well, I don't like people skulking around watching my friends either, so I guess we're even. Would you mind getting off me? You're heavy."<br /><br />"Not quite yet." He somehow managed to transfer both of her wrists to one hand. Raising his other arm, he spoke into the comm unit strapped around his wrist. "I got some action up here, Sarge. Little girl, with a big gun. Name of Kalie. Says she's watching point for the others. You want to verify that?"<br /><br />"Should have expected something like this." Sarge's voice crackled over the unit. "I'll have Jackson check with the girls. Bring her on down, and we'll see if her story checks out."<br /><br />"Roger that. Be down in a few."<br /><br />Shotgun looked down at her. He was a big man. Big and hard. His face was all hard angles and planes, with a faint scar running down one side of his temple. She could feel hard muscles pressing into every inch of her. There wasn't a single soft spot on his entire body. Was he enhanced? One of the soldiers they'd fed those experimental drugs to during the provincial wars? That would explain how he'd managed to sneak up on her without her hearing him.<br /><br />As she watched, a mischievous light danced in the depths of his eyes. He certainly didn't seem to think she was much of a threat. Maybe she could use that to her advantage "Looks like we're going to join the party. Up you get." He surged to his feet with an innate grace that told her he'd kept up his training after the wars. Holding out a hand to help her up, he still managed to keep that rifle pointed directly at her.<br /><br />"Fine. Let's get moving." She ignored the outstretched hand and stood. "Can I have my rifle back now, please?"<div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-39077090950134095562015-01-22T04:00:00.000-05:002015-01-22T08:29:35.852-05:00SERAFINA AND THE FOUNDER by Marie Treanor<a href="http://www.marietreanor.com/SerafinaAndThePsychoSous-Chef.htm" target="_blank">SERAFINA AND THE FOUNDER</a> by <a href="http://www.marietreanor.com/" target="_blank">Marie Treanor</a><br />
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Serafina's Series Book Five<br />
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Will curiosity kill the witch? <div>
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Kind witch Melanie Merrow regards herself as an honourary aunt to the eccentric staff of Serafina’s Psychic Investigations. But Melanie has buried a terrible past that her friends bring unwittingly to the surface during a séance. Plus her insatiable quest for knowledge has fixated on the most elusive and dangerous being on the planet – the ancient, tragic Founder, from whom all vampires are descended. </div>
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The Founder, who hides himself in shadows and illusions, even from the scattered vampires over whom he watches from a distance, plans to leave the world of humans forever. He should not be engaging in banter and seduction with the beautiful and intriguing Melanie, let alone buying her chips or involving himself in the chaos that is Serafina’s. But, fighting the human police, the possessive spirit of a dead serial killer, a pack of vengeful wolves, and the anger of the Tuatha de Danann is easy compared to dealing with his own reawakening desires.<br /><div>
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<a href="http://www.marietreanor.com/novels/serafina-and-the-founder/" target="_blank">BUY THE eBOOK</a> *** <a href="http://www.marietreanor.com/novels/serafina-and-the-founder/" target="_blank">READ THE EXCERPT</a><br />
<br /><br />Chapter One<br /><br />The Founder had always possessed a low opinion of humanity.<br /><br />Which was, of course, the fatal flaw in his design of the undead. A stupid human would undoubtedly make a stupid vampire. Once, when the world was young, he’d had control over who became immortal, and he had, on the whole, chosen wisely. Now, he had the felicity of observing a moronic vampiress called Margaret demonstrating her power to a recent interloper—in a fashionable Sydney bar stuffed with uneasy and downright terrified humans.<br /><br />She stood on a tabletop in the centre of the bar, fangs on full display, hissing at her undead enemy like a ham extra in a bad horror film. For his part, the vampire who’d intruded on Margaret’s territory had the grace to look appalled. Every vampire knew from the moment he or she was turned, that the first rule—the only rule—of the undead was discretion.<br /><br />He stood facing her, tense, but at least with his mouth well shut. He even tried to reason with her.<br /><br />“There’s room for us both,” he told her telepathically. “I won’t get in your way. I’ll hunt the other side of the city.”<br /><br />“You’ll hunt another city altogether, or I’ll kill you.”<br /><br />The new kid in town, whose name was Bruce, bridled at that, and from his corner shadows, the Founder knew, wearily, that things were about to get nasty.<br /><br />Bruce curled his lip. “You’re no stronger than me.”<br /><br />“But I break the rules,” Margaret boasted. “And that makes me meaner. And makes this city too hot for you, pom. Go back to London.”<br /><br />“Too many vampires in London now. It’s why I came to Australia.”<br /><br />“And now there are too many vampires in Sydney. I’ll kill you after dinner.”<br /><br />As the vampiress swooped down from the table, faster than human eyes would have been able to see, she grabbed for the girl protecting her beer close by. The imbecile was going to bite her in public, just to convince her interloper how badass she was.<br /><br />Time, clearly, for the Founder’s own demonstration. Almost resigned, he stepped out of the shadows, watching the action partly through the eyes of Bruce, to whom he seemed to fly from nowhere in a blur, sweeping Margaret away from the human girl and out the door before anyone else could move. At the last moment, the Founder yanked Bruce outside too.<br /><br />To the humans, the Founder would have been invisible. It probably looked to them as if Bruce had pushed his drunk girlfriend outside, so just in case any of the bar patrons followed from curiosity or compassion, he sped his captives around the corner into the nearest alley and hurled them against the wall.<br /><br />It took him less than a second to drain Margaret to dust. Gazing through it with his mouth open, Bruce muttered in the Founder’s head, “What the fuck?”<br /><br />The Founder, shimmering the air to make himself more or less invisible in the darkness, leapt onto the low roof above Bruce’s head.<br /><br />The Founder slid unnoticed into the vampire’s numbed mind. “So what, pray, is the lesson you take from tonight’s sad events?” he enquired.<br /><br />Bruce spun around, searching. “You’re…you’re the Founder,” he murmured in amazed awe. “You do exist…”<br /><br />“Exactly. So don’t piss me off,” the Founder said, already walking away. “Here endeth the lesson.”<br /><br />He supposed he’d saved the day. The humans would rationalise what they’d seen, and no one would imagine for a moment that either Margaret or Bruce were real vampires. Margaret had been more of a hazard than an asset to vampire kind—which was why the Founder had been keeping a close eye on Sydney. He didn’t mourn Margaret’s loss, because she wasn’t one. He’d solved the problem and should have felt if not triumphant, at least satisfied. Instead, he was conscious of minor irritation. Had he really created vampires just so he could stop them behaving with all the uncontrolled violence and idiocy of humans?<br /><br />The Founder took himself to Sydney Harbour Bridge and found an invisible seat amid the tangle of metal that supported the massive structure. From there, he gazed down into the calm sea and passed his hand over the stretch of water in his line of focus, until it reflected what he chose to see of the rest of the world.<br /><br />There was a ripple over Scotland. Nowadays, there was always a ripple over Scotland. The Founder blamed the humans who’d become entangled with the vampire Blair and upset the supernatural balance. It hadn’t been like this before Blair’s human, Serafina, had started flexing her psychic muscles. Or before her friend, the beautiful and overcurious little witch, Melanie, had started poking into the Founder’s past and present, searching out his knowledge and abilities. He’d put the hems on that, of course, which should have pleased him more than it did.<br /><br />His hand hovered over Scotland, taking in the locations of his vampires, and, inevitably, the witch. She had a vampire with her, and it wasn’t one he knew. One of the new breed who should never have been made.<br /><br />He had an excuse to check up on her again. His earlier annoyance vanished, swept away by a secret, insidious excitement he tried to ignore. Rising on his narrow ledge, the Founder stood upright and walked off, folding the world in front of him.<br /><br />****<br /><br />It was dark when the doorbell rang. Melanie, who’d been thinking about an early night with a good book—well, a bad book in many eyes—leapt up to answer it. Her day had been dull, and she hadn’t yet given up hope of finding some excitement before bed and the bad book.<br /><br />As always when she opened her front door, the view took her breath away. Trees at the foot of her garden, the hills beyond, and, sparkling between, the waters of “her” little loch, only a few miles distant from Loch Lomond. She was so lucky to live here. She acknowledged all that in an instant that banished her vague discontent—and that was before she even glanced at her visitor.<br /><br />He wasn’t tall or threatening, but he stood staring at her without blinking. In the glow of Melanie’s outside light, he looked unhealthily pale, and his skin seemed to sag a little, like a man who’d lost too much weight too quickly. And yet he was a comparatively young man. Certainly no older than forty. He wore a suit, although the jacket didn’t seem to fit properly.<br /><br />“Hello,” Melanie said.<br /><br />“Good evening,” the man said politely. “I apologise for calling so late. My name is Richard Wayland. I don’t have an appointment, but I understand you do consultations.” He gave a wan smile. “I’m desperate.”<br /><br />Melanie was a sucker for a wan smile. And a man prepared to give his name to a witch. She said, “You understand I don’t guarantee to help you. I don’t even guarantee to try until I’ve heard your problem.”<br /><br />“I understand.”<br /><br />Melanie opened the door wider. “Then please come in.”<br /><br />Many people would—and did—consider her rash to the point of foolish for allowing strange men into her house at all when she was alone. At night, she hated to imagine the lectures. But Melanie wasn’t afraid of people. Nor was she stupid. She had her own forms of protection, and they covered the whole house.<br /><br />Leading her visitor across the hall to her consulting room on the right-hand side, she switched on the lights and offered him a cup of tea or coffee, or a glass of water. He turned them all down, and she indicated the comfortable chair at the near side of her desk.<br /><br />She’d dithered about the desk when she’d first designed this room. Her original idea had been an informal sitting room where people would be more comfortable spilling their problems and accepting her help. But in the end, although most of the room remained her original vision, she’d decided to begin each new consultation behind the desk. For some reason, it inspired confidence and set the tone that this was a serious business, not some airy-fairy fairground nonsense.<br /><br />Richard Wayland moved towards the desk with odd stiffness and lowered himself gingerly into the seat.<br /><br />“So, how can I help you?” Melanie asked, sitting opposite him and picking up her pen. She gazed at him with an encouraging smile. In the light, his suit was revealed as old and worn and just a little dirty, which sat oddly with his precise, educated speech. The man had a story.<br /><br />He gazed back at her without blinking. “I expected someone older. You seem very young.”<br /><br />“I’m forty-two years old,” Melanie replied calmly. “And I’ve been doing this a long time.”<br /><br />“You look younger.” Her would-be client gazed distractedly at the curtains behind her, as if he could see through them. “I suppose that will be witchcraft?”<br /><br />“Lots of greens and a pure heart,” Melanie said flippantly.<br /><br />Her client blinked, possibly with surprise, and refocused his attention on her. “I heard you can help with…medical problems.”<br /><br />“Sometimes,” Melanie said with caution. “I’ve studied herbal medicine and practiced with some success, but I’m not a faith healer.”<br /><br />Wayland took off his tie, then grasped his lapel and the shirt beneath and yanked them down from his shoulder. Chunks of flesh seemed to be peeling from his bones, flapping. Although there was blood, it didn’t ooze or leak, just hung around, part of the general mess.<br /><br />Melanie stood up with a gasp of pity. “God, that looks painful. What happened?”<br /><br />“I don’t know. It just started about a week ago, and it’s getting worse. I don’t know what to do.”<br /><br />Melanie came around the desk. “What did your doctor say?” Reaching out, she touched the sound flesh of his throat just beside the rotting flaps. His skin was cold.<br /><br />Not just the kind of cold that came from being outside too long on an autumn night, but deep-down chill, like stone that never saw the sun.<br /><br />Slowly, she dropped her hand and raised her eyes to his face. Still, pale features. Unblinking, dead eyes.<br /><br />He said, “I haven’t seen a doctor. For obvious reasons.”<br /><br />“You’re a vampire,” Melanie observed.<br /><br />Her client gave a wry smile. “It doesn’t seem to even surprise you. Not quite Count Dracula, am I?”<br /><br />“Far from it,” Melanie said. “You talk.”<br /><br />“Some of us do.”<br /><br />“Only those of you who were made last year by the magic of the sorcerer Nicholas Smith.”<br /><br />Wayland frowned. “How do you know so much about vampires?”<br /><br />“Luck, mainly,” Melanie said wryly. “You’re a banker?” It wasn’t just a guess. The new vampires made with the aid of Nicholas Smith’s magic were nearly all from the financial sector of employment.<br /><br />“I was. A while after I was turned, I found I couldn’t cope with the stress of working and hiding my nature, so I resigned and moved up here. There are a lot fewer people, of course, but I’m discreet. Sheep blood is okay between occasional humans. I thought I could get by until this happened.”<br /><br />“Has anything else changed for you?” Melanie asked curiously. She knew a couple of much stronger, more dangerous vampires than this one would ever be, but although she didn’t really fear unprovoked attack, she did wish she kept one of Sera’s neat little pointy sticks in her desk.<br /><br />The vampire shook his head. “Apart from tiredness—which is odd, because I’m finally getting to sleep when I want—and loss of strength. Almost like I’m ill, only I thought vampires didn’t get ill.”<br /><br />“Maybe it’s the sheep’s blood,” Melanie reflected. “I never heard of a vampire drinking sheep’s blood.”<br /><br />The vampire stared at her. “Are you saying I’ve got scrapie or something?”<br /><br />“No, you wouldn’t get diseases like that… Would you? I just meant, maybe sheep’s blood doesn’t agree with you. Or maybe… I heard someone complaining the other day about an animal he swore was a wolf, killing one of his sheep. Maybe it was a sick dog or something that’s infected other sheep? A species-jumping infection?” She sighed. “Unlikely, I know. The sheep just worry me for some reason. I probably shouldn’t say this, but perhaps you should stick to humans for a while, see if this goes away.”<br /><br />The vampire gave her another wan smile. “Well, that’s the problem. I don’t think I’ve got a while. I think I’m dying. It feels as if I’m dying.”<br /><br />It was, Melanie reflected, a bit of a bummer. He was a relatively young man. Left to his own devices, he could have expected to live another forty years or so. Until some arsehole made him immortal.<br /><br />“Is it as painful as it looks?” she asked.<br /><br />The vampire nodded. Melanie walked to the big dresser that took up most of the back wall, and took out a bottle.<br /><br />“This will help with the pain,” she said, coming back to him. “For the rest…I need to do some research. I’ve never come across vampire illness before. Or even vampire injuries that couldn’t be cured by blood.”<br /><br />“Trust me, blood doesn’t help,” Wayland said mournfully. He took the bottle from her, unscrewed the cap, and took a large slug. “How much of this can I take?” he asked belatedly.<br /><br />“I wouldn’t glug any more before dawn. How long do you think you have? What’s your best guess?”<br /><br />He shrugged. “A week, maybe less. If I’m too weak to hunt, I’ll die quicker.”<br /><br />Melanie hesitated. Her reputation as well as her business depended on discretion. Success and discretion. She suspected taking this case would sacrifice both. Which would be a pity. Word had got around about her in the last year or so. Despite moving out here to the sticks, she had no shortage of clients from all over Scotland, and from down south too. They came for all sorts of reasons—alternative medicine, revenge, financial problems, love problems, and she got a kick as well as a living out of fixing those cases. Was a being who was already dead worth sacrificing all this for?<br /><br />She knew other beings who’d been dead a lot longer than this one. Sera, who was probably the most important person in Melanie’s life, would grieve horribly if her dead—undead—lover died, as this vampire seemed about to.<br /><br />Besides, he looked so miserable and helpless that he aroused all her motherly instincts. She could at least make enquiries of Blair, Sera’s lover.<br /><br />The Founder would know, of course.<br /><br />Her stomach tightened with the odd thrill of fear and excitement she associated with that particular being, the first vampire, the one from whom all the others, including Blair and the sick one on the other side of her desk, were descended. Reclusive as he was, the Founder would know what was wrong with Richard Wayland and how to cure him.<br /><br />Or perhaps she was just stupid to place so much faith in a shadow who’d never even spoken to her, except, perhaps, in a dream. “Curiosity killed the witch.”<br /><br />She’d been well warned—by him and by everyone who knew anything about him. Whatever his knowledge, he wouldn’t share it with her. Even if she knew how to ask him.<br /><br />She pushed her pen and a piece of paper across the desk to Richard Wayland. “Write down your name and who turned you. And where I can get back in touch with you.”<br /><br />“I can come here.” Obviously, he still retained some of a vampire’s secretive instincts.<br /><br />“It’s up to you. But if you weaken further, I might need to come to you. Don’t misunderstand me, I might not be able to help at all, but I’ll try.”<br /><br />****<br /><br />The Founder wasn’t sure what drew him to the witch. He did know that, having warned her away from her apparently insatiable study of him, and having listened to his people discouraging her from the same via their human contacts, it was somewhat counterproductive to enter her home.<br /><br />Her home soothed him for some reason. Even at night, it gave him a strange impression of brightness, of age and quiet learning. Like the lost library of Timbuktu. Like his early days of study as a youth with the various village doctors he’d visited. In those days, he studied mostly under the stars and the heat of the African sun. It wasn’t Melanie’s building, it was the idea of learning that comforted him still. She wasn’t afraid to learn, although he’d tried to make her so. He was, it seemed, a hypocrite in this. If he’d met her away back at the beginning, in the mists of his half-forgotten first memories, he’d have been enchanted.<br /><br />He stood inside the front door, letting it close softly, silently behind him, and listened. He could hear her heart beating steadily in sleep.<br /><br />It wasn’t the first time he’d entered her home. That had been a year ago, when he’d felt her summons. Well, her effort at summons. He doubted there was any being in this world or any other who could summon him against his will. He’d gone to see what she was up to, particularly since she was connected to the human who was hanging around with the vampire Blair.<br /><br />She’d been reading about him in a book whose existence he’d forgotten about. It came from the days when he’d still been able to read everything that had ever been written down, and he’d been impressed by the lengths of her curiosity. She’d reminded him of his own youth, when he’d still been human.<br /><br />That had been uncomfortable. He rarely remembered his human days. They were too painful, too long ago, and too few to count in the millennia which had followed. And yet he’d kept his eye on her. He’d helped her save the humans in the Tuatha portal, and he’d added his energy to that of the creature Angel to save Melanie herself when she’d been shot and had, in fact, technically died. Not giving in to death was his speciality. And he’d used the opportunity to visit her unconscious mind and warn her to stay away from him.<br /><br />And yet here he was in her house, walking into her study and her kitchen, to see what she’d been reading, what spells she’d been casting, and what brews she’d been concocting. This curiosity, it seemed, stretched both ways.<br /><br />She was reading about vampires again. He frowned with displeasure. One of the undead had entered her house this evening. He could smell the presence in her study. A new one, of the kind Blair looked after in Edinburgh, when he remembered. Something was wrong with this vampire: his thread was too long.<br /><br />He moved through the cottage and glided into the witch’s bedroom. He’d done such things so often it generally bored him. To watch a human sleep before he drank her, or his, blood. Generally, he did it without waking them. He didn’t need much blood anymore, and he barely had to touch them to extract what he wanted.<br /><br />Looking at the witch didn’t bore him.<br /><br />He stood in the shadows by the window and gazed at the sleeping woman in the big bed, watching the rise and fall of the covers as she breathed, appealingly helpless, vulnerable…<br /><br />Desire gathered low in his belly, insidious, sweet…and dangerous when applied to this woman. Perhaps that was part of her attraction for him. He was old and bored.<br /><br />A worn, open book lay on the pillow beside her, the corner of the binding pressed against her cheek. Strands of her luxuriant hair spread across the pages like a veil. Her heart beat steadily, pumping hot, sweet blood around her veins and arteries. It smelled like nectar.<br /><br />She was beautiful. Many human women were, of course. Beauty alone wasn’t enough to pierce his ennui. But something about this beautiful woman did. Perhaps the combination of pale, flawless skin, the perfect shape of her skull beneath the taut flesh, and the rare, dark red shade of the hair spilling around her face as she slept. Her eyes, when open, were green, he remembered, sparkling with fun and compassion and an eternal quest for knowledge—the best of human characteristics, and traits he found only too seldom in anyone.<br /><br />She breathed deeply in her sleep, her full lips parting temptingly, her body shifting slightly so that the quilt moved and revealed the soft curve of her naked shoulder. His mouth opened in want, and he licked his razor-sharp fangs. His own blood trickled from his tongue.<br /><br />This was why he came here. To torture himself with a powerful lust he wouldn’t assuage.<br /><br />Curiosity killed the witch, he’d told her. Despite that, he wouldn’t kill her. He would, however, drink her blood one night. Maybe even this night. His throat grew dry with the force of hunger. It swept down to his stomach and lower, joining with his lust.<br /><br />He could do it now. Step out of the shadows and cross the room to her bed, sit beside her so that her warmth enfolded him as he bent over her sleeping body, inhaling the scent of her skin, piercing it with his fangs and letting the heady sweetness of her blood rush into his mouth. He could make her enjoy rather than simply endure or fail to notice. After all, there was no real reason for his abstinence where she was concerned—at least not beyond his own absurd fear that he wanted her too much.<br /><br />He could let the blood kiss arouse her, and then he could take her while he drank, pushing deep inside her hot, wet depths, having all of her, body and blood…<br /><br />She’d like the dream, when she remembered it in the morning. He already intrigued her, and he’d make it good for her.<br /><br />Or he could wait, draw out this game he played with himself a little longer, to heighten the anticipation and the joy of eventual fulfilment. A sip from the witch’s veins would be more, so much more. He’d no need of sex with her. Her blood alone would be amazing. He could tell that merely from the beguiling, so tempting smell.<br /><br />He savoured the moment, rocking on the cusp of indecision while his body held still, racked with such powerful desire and thirst that even he found it hard to control. To take, or not to take…<br /><br />He stepped one pace forward—and realised her breathing had changed. She was panting, a frown marring the previous smoothness of her brow. A sound of breathless distress broke from her lips. Her head twisted from side to side on the pillow in a desperate attempt to escape.<br /><br />Intrigued, he stepped back into the shadows. She was trying to wake up, to make whatever was in her head stop. Memory twisted deep inside him. He understood nightmares only too well.<br /><br />What scares you so much, little witch? You never seemed half so frightened of me in your head, not even when you thought I was God.<br /><br />****<br /><br />Melanie woke with a cry. Her heart thudded painfully. Her skin prickled with sweat as she stared into the darkness, listening to the sound of her own ragged panting.<br /><br />The edge of the book pressed into her cheek. She’d fallen asleep reading, looking for clues as to the vampire Richard Wayland’s mysterious illness. And dreamed.<br /><br />A nightmare. Well, memory. But in daylight it would seem like a nightmare again, or a film about someone else’s life. A horror film, where a child watches her mother being murdered and can do nothing to stop it. All she can do is save her father.<br /><br />She lay still, waiting for her heart to slow, for the terror to resolve into present-day safety. But for some reason, the nightmare presence seemed to linger in the air and cling.<br /><br />Lyall Clark, serial killer.<br /><br />Dead serial killer. He’d died in prison twenty years ago.<br /><br />Melanie wanted to reach out and switch on the bedside lamp, to dissolve the shadows of memory into her familiar bedroom, so lovingly restored and decorated with the rest of her cottage. But she refused to give in. She’d learned to control the terror in childhood. She wouldn’t let it defeat her in adulthood, not for an instant. So she stared into the darkness, breathing deeply, acknowledging that Lyall Clark wasn’t here, had never been here and was, in fact, very, very dead.<br /><br />No, Clark wasn’t here. But something was. Someone.<br /><br />Subtly, the cause of her drumming heart changed from the cold, helpless fear of memory to the excitement of knowledge. He was here again, the Founder, lurking in the shadows, watching her.<br /><br />She’d sensed him more than once since the night she’d been shot and he’d walked into the depths of her mind, warning, “Curiosity killed the witch.” The first time, she’d been terrified he’d come for her, and pretended she didn’t know he was there. He was gone in seconds.<br /><br />Since then, she’d almost looked forward to his occasional, fleeting visits. They never felt like stalking, for some reason. Instead, she greeted his soundless, watching presence with a little thrill of excitement that acknowledged his power. The strongest power she’d ever encountered. The most powerful being she’d ever encountered: the Founder. The first vampire who’d made himself, from whom all other vampires, including Blair and Phil and her new sick client, were descended.<br /><br />But he’d been right when he’d spoken in her mind; her fear of him was laced with dangerous curiosity.<br /><br />She couldn’t control his visits by physical means, willpower, or magic. She had no more say in those than she had in the nightmares. But perhaps she had some say in what happened during the short moments he was here.<br /><br />Her heart still beating hard, she stared into the shadows by the curtains. Although she couldn’t see him, the darkness there seemed blacker, almost shimmering.<br /><br />“Well, don’t just stand there,” she said loudly to the curtains. “Since you’re here, have a seat. Let’s chat.”<br /><br />This was why she didn’t have flatmates anymore. They’d have had her sectioned.<br /><br />The curtains didn’t move. Neither did the shadows. But after a moment or two, she realised the shimmering black shade had dulled to normal darkness. She sighed. Speaking to him clearly scared him off—which was good. Who wanted to be stalked? Especially by something even vampires were afraid of.<br /><br />Still, as she sat up and reached for the lamp switch, she was conscious of a disappointment—which vanished into sudden, galloping terror as a figure seemed to loom out of the darkness in front of her. This was no vague, shimmering blackness. This was the definite shape of a man, only two or three feet away from her.<br /><br />Oh shit. I’ve done it now…<br /><br />“The Founder does not chat.”<br /><br />Deep, soft, icy, with just a trace of self-mockery, his voice bypassed her ears and spoke straight into her mind, almost like a daydream or a fantasy. She’d have considered insanity if it hadn’t been the same voice which had once told her, “Curiosity killed the witch.”<br /><br />Old vampires didn’t speak aloud. They communicated telepathically. Only Sera could hear them because she was telepathic, or perhaps because she could talk to the dead. Melanie could do neither. At least not without some very powerful spells. And yet she heard him. Surely more humorous than supercilious: “The Founder does not chat.”<br /><br />She thought she could make out the whites of his eyes, a gleam of amber directed at her like a torch.<br /><br />“I suppose he doesn’t stare either?” Melanie retorted.<br /><br />There was a definite pause before he said, “That would be rude.”<br /><br />“And breaking into someone’s home isn’t?”<br /><br />“Not when I’m invited.”<br /><br />“Invited?” she repeated, aware now that she was doing the staring. Not that she could see much.<br /><br />“You have a short memory,” he remarked, “even for a human.”<br /><br />Oh shit. Melanie grasped the quilt tighter as she remembered a certain spell cast a year ago, when she’d first learned about vampires and the legend of the Founder. “I tried to summon you. It didn’t work.”<br /><br />“Of course it didn’t work. I have free will. On the other hand, I’d have heard your magic in hell. I chose to be invited.”<br /><br />“And if I rescind my invitation?”<br /><br />The air stirred, almost as if he was laughing at her naivety. She shivered.<br /><br />He said, “You’ve been reading too many novels.”<br /><br />Melanie swallowed, peering through the darkness at him. She could see two eyes now, but one seemed darker than the other. A trick of the nonexistent light. She said, “Are you speaking to me?”<br /><br />“Is there anyone else here?”<br /><br />“No, I mean are you speaking to me? Not, are you speaking to me?”<br /><br />“Questions, questions,” mocked the Founder. “Do you want to end up like me?”<br /><br />“You mean staring at people while they sleep?”<br /><br />She knew that wasn’t what he meant. Legend said his own curiosity had caused him to face down ignorance and prejudice, had led him into torture and suffering and ultimately to defy death itself. But she couldn’t resist the barb.<br /><br />For a moment, she imagined she’d actually thrown him. He didn’t move or speak for several seconds. Then he said, “You weren’t sleeping. You were waking. From a nightmare.”<br /><br />Melanie twitched without meaning to. She never spoke of this. To anyone. She shrugged. “Everyone dreams.”<br /><br />He stirred. She heard the faint rush of his clothes, whatever they were. What did the Founder wear? Her fingers itched for the light switch, but she was too afraid to move, in case he came any closer. A shiver thrilled down her spine.<br /><br />“What do you dream, little witch?” he asked softly. “What scares you more than I do?”<br /><br />She stared at the brighter of his eyes. “Nothing. I admit that.”<br /><br />“Then you lie. Though I’m not often the one called upon to frighten away the demons.”<br /><br />She caught her breath. Was that what she’d done?<br /><br />She hadn’t called on him—of course she hadn’t. But if it hadn’t been for the dream, she’d probably have said nothing, just waited for him to go as she always had before. Everyone, including the vampire Blair, had told her never to speak to the Founder, never to try to engage.<br /><br />Oh hell. I’ve engaged. Even more surprising, not to say terrifying, so had he.<br /><br />“Well, thank you,” she said politely. “The demons have gone. Apart from yourself.”<br /><br />“That’s the danger of inviting the biggest demon to dispel the lesser. Who’s going to scare me?”<br /><br />“Can you be scared?” she countered.<br /><br />“You could try with one of your little spells.”<br /><br />“Now you’re being insulting.” Should she really be bandying words with the Founder? Oh well, in for a penny… “Actually, since you’re here, I want to ask you something.”<br /><br />“How to keep the dreams away?”<br /><br />“Oh no. The dreams are mine.”<br /><br />For some reason, the answer seemed to intrigue him. She caught a faint head movement, as if he’d leaned it to one side, considering her. Then the darkness blurred, and her heart lurched as the mattress depressed.<br /><br />Oh God help me, the Founder’s sitting on my bed.<br /><br />Surely she should have been able to make out more of him than this blur and odd glimpses of his eyes? She was used to the dark now, and there was moonlight gleaming through the curtains. And he was close enough to touch. She could move her knee and brush his hip through the quilt. If she was insane enough.<br /><br />No, she couldn’t see him properly, but he could see her. His very stillness told her that. She wondered what he thought, and her body heated with embarrassment and something more, because she wanted him to like what he saw. She wasn’t just a curious witch, she was a woman, and she could sense the caress of his eyes on her naked arms and shoulders, on her breasts, which, while mostly covered by her nightdress, probably revealed the outline of her tense nipples…<br /><br />In the dark? Get a grip, Melanie.<br /><br />He’s the Founder. He’s vampire. He doesn’t need light.<br /><br />And this is so not the point.<br /><br />“Do vampires get sick?” she blurted.<br /><br />There was a pause. “Not often.”<br /><br />“I have a vampire client who is. I don’t know how to help him.”<br /><br />The mattress shifted very slightly, and she tensed, terrified he was coming closer, longing to know how it would feel if he did.<br /><br />The Founder said, “He isn’t your concern.”<br /><br />“Then you’ll help him?”<br /><br />“I’m not your concern.”<br /><br />“But you are.” Lunging for the lamp, she grabbed the switch and flicked it on.<br /><br />A warm glow swam around the room. The empty room, containing only herself and her possessions. She didn’t even hear the window rattle, but she could have sworn that just for an instant, soft laughter echoed in her head.<br />
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-57301891921165829422015-01-09T04:00:00.000-05:002015-01-09T07:59:06.582-05:00WOLF'S RETURN by Rebecca Royce<a href="http://www.rebeccaroyce.com/books/wolfsreturn.shtml" target="_blank">WOLF'S RETURN</a> by <a href="http://www.rebeccaroyce.com/" target="_blank">Rebecca Royce</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP59zEUktwJl6SuBGFvsjMKObDIwy-btqeVWB6MwkXTfFgciSz8umpSJvuFDfU8O9q1gGqQtJwahX_mPEPL1ED6fMn1lfzIilEwK7dfoDCNzmsoTeKXKXgLf1Jf4VLM0qdozWtYZuyMIQ/s1600/wolfsreturn_200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP59zEUktwJl6SuBGFvsjMKObDIwy-btqeVWB6MwkXTfFgciSz8umpSJvuFDfU8O9q1gGqQtJwahX_mPEPL1ED6fMn1lfzIilEwK7dfoDCNzmsoTeKXKXgLf1Jf4VLM0qdozWtYZuyMIQ/s1600/wolfsreturn_200.jpg" /></a>Black Hills Wolves Book 1<br />
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A hidden wolf pack. Lies. Intrigue. And reluctant heroes. Get to know the Black Hills…<br />
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Drew Tao left the Black Hills in disgrace, banished by his father. He has spent the last ten years a lone wolf, living on his own. Called back home, he finally gets the chance to set things right. If such a thing is possible….<br />
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Betty Holden has hated her mate every day for the last ten years for abandoning her and their pack. She's been running things in Los Lobos, and she has no intention of letting Drew Tao slip back into her life like nothing has changed-even if she has never been able to resist him.<br />
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Can there be forgiveness? And can he protect her when another enemy arrives?<br />
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<br />~Excerpt~<br /><br />The rain pounded on the roof of the white center hall colonial, a strong, loud rhythm Drew Tao had come to associate with New Jersey in the early winter. Cold, windy, and gray without any snow to bring beauty to frigid air. But none of that mattered. Not when he could be indoors working. It could be one hundred degrees and sunny. When he was working, he hardly noticed. Finishing his task mattered more than anything else.<br /><br />Drew stepped back to survey the entertainment unit he’d spent the last two days building for his client—a couple in their early twenties had commissioned his custom work for their sixty-inch flat-screen television. They would be happy with what he had created. He’d left ample space for every accessory they wanted and some places for the wife to display decorative touches. All oak, as they’d requested.<br /><br />He smiled; finishing the piece was a good day’s work, and he took satisfaction in knowing the few useful skills he had in this human world could make others happy. His hands tingled. It was almost time for him to move on. Staying in one place for too long made his wolf-side twitchy. When things started to feel too much like home, he suddenly craved his pack.<br /><br />And the spirits knew he’d never have that again.<br /><br />The phone in his pocket vibrated, and he ignored it. Several clients were waiting to hear from him about whether or not he’d be able to work for them in the next couple of weeks. Since he needed to move on, the answer would have to be a resounding no. He could wait a few more hours to send his regrets.<br /><br />It vibrated again, and he groaned. “Pushy client.” Maybe he’d dodged a proverbial bullet by deciding it was time to go.<br /><br />He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the message. It wasn’t a number he recognized, but he never stored any names. What was the point? Anyone calling or texting constituted a temporary client who became a temporary acquaintance during his time with them. No one worth remembering—no possibility of friends or family.<br /><br />He’s dying.<br /><br />Drew forgot to breathe for a second.<div>
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AuthorIsland.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17151952081726758554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295433788141982169.post-82302744960434170432015-01-05T04:00:00.000-05:002015-01-09T07:08:29.317-05:00REDEMPTION: Angel Rising Book One by LaVerne Thompson<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Angel-Rising-Redemption-Book-1-ebook/dp/B00ROSP8YO?tag=authorisland-20" target="_blank">REDEMPTION: Angel Rising Book One</a> by<a href="http://lavernethompson.com/" target="_blank"> LaVerne Thompson</a><br />
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To walk the earth she must feed her hollow soul.<br />
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Some of the most beautiful people in the world are not human. They have no soul, feel no emotion and are pure evil. You can tell by the color of their dark, dead eyes. Samuel Glaus knows this. He is after all the son of a human mother and soulless father. He is, half human and a hunter of the soulless. He is also in love with one who cannot love him back.<br />
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Thalya is a soulless creature, but unlike others of her kind, she does not kill to feed her hollow soul. She hungers only for emotion and above all she hungers for Samuel’s love. Her enemy. Her redemption. And she’s willing to kill for it.<br />
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Excerpt:</div>
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Thalya stood alone on her balcony, hands braced on the wide stone railing overlooking Central Park. The wind picked up, blowing her chest length curls away from her face and cutting through the material of her thigh high sleeveless silk dress. Bitter cold accompanied the end of January or so she understood. She would love this time of year, if she could, even the cold. Too bad, she couldn’t feel any of it. No matter the external temperature, her body heat never changed.<br /><br />Winter boasted her most fulfilling time of the modern year. The onset of depression. The time mortals realize they’ve spent way too much of the money they did not have over the holidays and now owed more than they could afford. Then, maybe they have gained twenty pounds during those holidays on top of the twenty already making them overweight. Or how about the woman, who at thirty, not only didn’t get an engagement ring for Christmas, but also by New Year’s, she no longer has a boyfriend?<br /><br />To walk the earth she must feed her hollow soul. Yes, this time of year kept the void inside her full of emotion. The kind she craved. Mortals were so ripe for plucking. Hunger had her licking her full cranberry-colored lips in anticipation…the void within would soon be filled.<br /><br />Opening up her senses, she sniffed out the most depressed in the city block around her. While she had no human sense of smell, the scents of emotions to her were as potent, as humans would say a bouquet of freshly cut roses. She could have gone out and canvassed a wider area but her favorite show, Being Human, would start in a half hour. She never liked recording the program if she could help it, so she tried not to miss an episode.<br /><br />Thalya preferred to live in the moment, because she’d had enough of the past. Besides, she didn’t have to go far, plenty of depression existed right around her. Why, right across the street a man entered the park. The scent of his depression floated right to her on the wind. Hot, potent and yummy, she would feed on it for a few days. There were no others of her kind in the area, so she wouldn’t have to warn anyone off. Although, quite a few soulless resided in New York, the size of the area ensured she didn’t run into others if she didn’t want to, which she usually didn’t.<br /><br />Going back inside her penthouse condo, she walked across thick sand-colored carpet. Her artist friend, Franklin, would have both loved and hated the great room. Loved it for the cool colors—reds, beiges, and golds. Those had been his favorites, but then she’d stuck a long, extra-wide black leather sofa smack in the center of it. He hated leather and black.<br /><br />Franklin, long gone…just another from her past.<br /><br />She changed her mind about recording her show and headed for her entertainment control pad sitting on the low side table. The pad came with the flat TV. Picking up the control, she programmed it. Just in case. A long, dark chocolate colored leather coat lay over the arm of the sofa. She grabbed the coat, put it on and headed for her private elevator. She didn’t need it but she wanted to blend in. No jumping from her balcony or moving too fast for any mortal eyes to see. Tonight she would act normal. Normal, at least for a human. As an additional benefit, when she walked through her lobby to get to the street, she would open her senses to her immediate surroundings, sampling a taste of surface emotions as she passed by. A nice appetizer before her main course.<br /><br />Not all of her kind could suck out emotion without touch but as an olden, one from a time long past and more powerful than most, she could. But other things also set her apart from those like her. She did not need to kill her providers or have them kill others to satisfy her needs. Draining humans of their depression, her emotion of choice, more than satisfied her. Why, she didn’t even have to cause it. Humans carried it in abundance. She merely put her providers to sleep and afterwards, they usually woke up feeling less depressed. Hers represented a more symbiotic relationship. She actually helped people, much like a psychiatrist would. Only, instead of talking them out of their depression, she drained it right out of them.<br /><br />The elevator door opened and she got on.<br /><br />The hotel where she lived also housed private residences, but a few guests milled around the lobby for the evening. Just enough people around with some serious issues to make her grin and tremble within her ankle-length leather coat.<br /><br />“Delicious,” she purred, savoring her version of oysters on a half shell. Red knee high stiletto boots clicked as she crossed the polished marble floor. She ignored the appreciative looks of the men and women as she glided among them, intentionally projecting a do not approach compulsion. Look but don’t touch, unless she was the one doing the touching.<br /><br />The doorman opened the door for her and smiled. “Good evening. Cold one tonight.” Bundled in layers and with a wool cap on his head, he stood directly beneath a heating vent to stay warm.<br /><br />He always spoke. She rarely did and tonight, she didn’t. She flashed him some teeth in the semblance of a smile. At least she hoped it looked like a smile and not a grimace. Happiness. It rolled off him in waves. She’d never tried draining that emotion from her providers, although over the centuries she’d met a few of her kind who preferred it. Anything to fill the void in the soulless place. But stealing someone else’s happiness always seemed unnecessary to her. Depression worked just fine.<br /><br />Out on the sidewalk, the scent hit her again. Like a shining point of light in dark woods, the depressed man she’d sensed beckoned her to follow him. After crossing the street, Thalya entered the park. It didn’t take long to find him.<br /><br />He sat on a bench at the other end of the park, leaning over with his head in his hands.<br /><br />She wouldn’t be able to read his thoughts until she actually touched him. No matter, she sensed his depression.<br /><br />He’d picked a bench away from the lighted path, but they didn’t have complete privacy. A few people walked through the park at the other end and they weren’t far from the street. Still, she could not resist. No more than the moth could fight being drawn to a roaring flame. They were secluded enough for her purpose. Besides, anyone could look in their direction any time, but no one would see anything alarming. Just a beautiful woman sitting with a man. Even if they did notice, it wouldn’t prevent her from doing what she must. Her survival demanded it.<br /><br />She sat on the bench next to him; he didn’t even bother to look up. Thalya placed her hand on his shoulder and her inner feminine muscles contracted to the point, she almost had an orgasm.<br /><br />Depression, and so potent.<br /><br />“Mmm, good,” she murmured.<br /><br />At her touch, he raised red-rimmed eyes in her direction.<br /><br />Finally, she had his attention.<br /><br />He pulled back slightly, some form of self-preservation kicking in. “Who—are you?”<br /><br />“Shhh. It will be all right. I promise,” she whispered. <br /><br />The man sat up and she wrapped her arms around him.<br /><br />Unable to help himself, he let her.<br /><br />Hmm, handsome. She always seemed to gravitate toward the young, good-looking ones, although she’d never sleep with any of them. Well, hardly ever. She nuzzled the side of his neck. Under the alcohol he’d indulged in, he exuded a nice clear human scent. Given his emotional state, she’d expected the scent of alcohol to be stronger. Surprisingly she only caught a slight whiff. No more than a beer. Maybe he just started on his drinking for the evening. Didn’t matter. Whatever he’d ingested, she didn’t care about.<br /><br />“What—?”<br /><br />She didn’t give him a chance to say more. Instead, she made her way to his mouth, which opened as soon as she pressed her lips against his. Unleashing her powers, she inhaled his depression into the starving emptiness that should have housed her soul, and at the same time, began to read his memories.<br /><br />Poor thing. Karl, yes…Karl Hammer. He’d recently lost his job and his wife, pregnant with their first child, didn’t know about it. He’d swallowed his pride and asked his blood uncle of sorts for help. Except Karl hadn’t spoken to his uncle in years. Mmm, interesting. She probed for the reason why.Samuel and the others like him lived a dangerous life. Samuel, a master hunter of the soulless and Karl, merely—bait. </div>
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The Guardians of Drakkan Book 1<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGY00OHxCXN-2Kkhz94BLIMxx7_gFj32k2-AsMq1kZ1VcG9_IZNpvUQfAtPf1UZRVeRTOV5eqFER32MA0cH9r0xkq8HVQcNfyMRDgXZ3DooPV1y-bAP7bSCxE_gma9J90oMrXwXS0JPqA/s1600/Soul+Fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGY00OHxCXN-2Kkhz94BLIMxx7_gFj32k2-AsMq1kZ1VcG9_IZNpvUQfAtPf1UZRVeRTOV5eqFER32MA0cH9r0xkq8HVQcNfyMRDgXZ3DooPV1y-bAP7bSCxE_gma9J90oMrXwXS0JPqA/s1600/Soul+Fire.jpg" /></a>A dragon on borrowed time.<br />
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Crispin, king of a shape-shifting race known as Drakkan’s children has little hope left for his dying race. Without females for his males to mate with, their extinction is assured. When the mating fever grips him, he knows his time can be counted in days before he goes mad and must be destroyed.<br />
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A woman who holds the key to a race’s survival.<br />
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During the Beltane Ceremony, Aslynn Durry is one of the chosen by the god Drakkan and the Tuatha de Danann to save the shape-shifting race. Within a secluded glen Aslynn and Crispin, unite for what they think is one night of celebration, only to find both of their destinies’ are woven together.<br />
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An old enemy rises from the pits of hell to have his revenge.<br />
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The Fomorians have bided their time to strike. The alliance between the Tuatha de Danann and the great dragon god Drakkan has given them the chance they need to satisfy their thirst for revenge.<br />
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Crispin and Aslynn find themselves pawns in an ancient war. Can they survive long enough to defeat the Fomorians? Or will the hope for Drakkan’s dying children be destroyed?<br />
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~Excerpt~<br />
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Forcing her gaze from those penetrating eyes, she became aware of his overpowering presence. The air around him crackled with power, an expectant hum filled the silence in the air. Dimly she realized he was more than human, something…other. Enticing and terrible, a heady mixture coalescing into an acute awareness. An arrow of lust pierced her belly, traveling down to her core, a liquid fire making her ach to the point of pain.<br />
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She couldn’t help but be drawn to him. His massive body hummed with male aggression and dominance, a perfect counterpoint to her femininity. Long, thick hair caught on a small breeze, lifting away from a face of sharp angles and shadows. Moonlight touched upon him like a lover’s hand, casting him in silver, a god come to earth to claim her.<br />
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A fanciful thought to be sure, yet by his intense regard of her, mayhap she had the truth of it.<br />
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He strode toward her with an unnatural grace, her pulse raced with every step toward her. He reminded her of a predator, more animal than man. Her heart slammed hard against her ribs, her breathing labored as she watched him approach, forced to tilt her head up as he stopped before her. The glen suddenly seemed too small to contain such a powerful being. He slowly held out one hand to her, her eyes riveted to the long fingers. High born, not one of calloused palms from laboring in fields, but smooth, soft.<br />
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Her hand reached for his of its own accord, watching as his swallowed her much smaller one. Warmth spread from her fingers up her arm as he pulled her up to her feet with a gentle tug. His nostrils flared as she stood mere breath betwixt them. <br />
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A rumble rose deep within his chest and she trembled. Not from fear, nay it ’twas desire which throbbed in exquisite anticipation, her body pitched upon a precipice from which there would be no return. The hunger from moments ago flowed hotter; his male scent of windswept seas and cedar mixed with an undertone of musk caressed her. <br />
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A moan escaped her as she took him into her lungs, her body softening, her core turning into molten liquid. Her ears roared as blood surged through and scalded her veins. Her body prepared for his, even as her normally logical mind struggled to reason through such a reaction with little luck.<br />
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The only clarity she could summon held sway of her emotions, for in the very marrow of her bones she knew this male was hers. If only for Beltane. The gods saw fit to give her a gift. Drakkan spoke of being the hope of his children. She would grasp this with both hands, hold it tight for this one moment, and have the memories to warm her on lonely nights. For once, she would take something for herself and face the consequences on the morrow.<br />
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