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Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
by Skyler Grey
Available August 6th
From Red Rose Publishing
* * * * *
Due to the sudden death of Lady Christine and the deep depression of her father soon after, Catherine Townsend is carted off to live with her mother's family and learns quickly that her arrival is not one of welcome. After years of being the brunt of cruel jokes, Catherine's aunt demands she attend a soiree. During the course of the evening's events, Catherine finds herself stumbling upon a private romp and flees in a hasty retreat for fear of being discovered.
Eric Rycroft, is a prince, and London's most eligible bachelor. Only recently returned after being abroad for the past eight years, the last thing he wants to do is attend a boring party with mothers shoving their daughters in his face. As Eric contemplates an early escape, he bumps into Albert Ashbury, who in turn begs for help to search out a noisy busy-body that interrupted his private tryst, which if revealed, could mean the ruin of his marriage.
Eric decides that a game of cat and mouse might actually be a fun way to past the time but it's not until Eric spots his prey across the ballroom floor, that he finds himself intrigued by the golden minx and a rogue's plans are set into motion.
* * * * *
Dizziness filled her as she fought to free herself. His smell was intoxicating, weakening her knees. He easily towered over her, his height at least six two, compared to her five-foot six. Her voice was quiet as she pleaded with him. "Please. Sir, you must release me. You are compromising my reputation and as it stands, it certainly needs no more help."
To her relief, he released her and bowed. "Forgive me, My Lady, but to find a rose such as you in a place filled with so many weeds…" He looked around, then up toward the doors leading to the Montgomery's soiree, raising a dark brow in tease.
Catherine felt a strong desire to smile back but knew she mustn't. This man, whoever he was, unnerved her, making it hard to think, to breathe, making him dangerous and she wanted only to get away from him. She heeded to the alarms that were going off in her head and turned to run toward the safety of her carriage.
But before she could get away, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her back to him. "Why are you afraid? I thought you to be an adventurous little minx. Was I mistaken?"
Catherine looked at him in confusion. "What? You do not know me, Sir, so how could you guess me to be adventurous? You most assuredly have me confused with another."
A wicked smile teased the corners of his mouth as he lifted both brows in disbelief. "Perhaps the fact that you have a taste for snooping around in dark rooms might cause me to think such a thing."
Her eyes flared wide and she gasped, trying desperately to pull away. Her face heated to near crimson as she realized his meaning. Could it have been him she had stumbled across?
Stuttering, she struggled for words. "I…um…I'm sure I have no idea what you mean. Now if you'll excuse me."
He tightened his grip slightly. "No?" Bending, he reached down and lifted her skirt with one hand while he firmly wrapped his fingers around her ankle, forcing her to bend her knee. The touch of his warm fingers on her bare flesh caused her body to tremble. Staring at her injured foot, he glanced up at her, his face smug.
Catherine's eyes widened again as she saw the white strip of cloth, now red, hanging from her shoe. She attempted to pull away once more but he held her fast, his hands brushing the sensitive skin of her leg before gently releasing her.
Standing, he winked, knowing he'd clearly made his point. In a teasing tone, he asked, "What kind of a gentleman would I be if I did not see to your injury and return you home safe and sound?" Turning his head, he snapped his fingers and ordered for his carriage to be brought around.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
by Cerise DeLand
Available from The Wild Rose Press
Scarlet Rose/The Wilder Roses
* * * * *
After Deanne Delacroix moves to Paris to re-think her failed career, she opens her drapes one morning to discover a delicious Frenchman in the window across the street—naked. Enthralled by his handsomeness and risqué behavior, Deanne goes above and beyond her comfort zone by offering her own wickedly naked expose. It's not long before Deanne is pursued by the handsome Architect Andre Ferrar and discovers the joy of Parisian delights. However, a Paris Exposé can only last so long...
* * * * *
Dee spotted Andre immediately as she entered the cafe. The mere sight of him had her body rippling and swelling with need. He sat at a table for two in the back, alone. Clothed, he was imperial in a severely cut, charcoal grey wool suit with crisp white shirt. She shivered in anticipation of being so close to him, and cinched the sash of her trench coat. She nodded to the maitre d’ that she was joining the gentleman at the rear and made her way through the tables with the giddy glee of a co-ed about to conquer the football captain.
Andre smiled at her with molten interest—and she responded with a broad grin. She wasn’t going to play the demure female. After all, she’d worn nothing beneath her coat. She grinned at him.
Andre rose from his seat on the banquette, extended his arms to enfold her and kissed both cheeks. “Mademoiselle Delacroix,” he welcomed her in a bass voice that sent sparks of joy down her spine. “I am delighted to see you.” His gaze swept from her eyes to her lips and throat, then drifted down, lingering for a dark special moment on the bodice of her trench coat. “I cannot wait to see more of you. Closer to me than my window.”
She couldn’t help it, she laughed because soon he would see more. Much more. “I feel the same, Monsieur Ferrar.”
Monday, July 27, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
from FOREVER MY LADY
by Jeff Rivera
Available at Amazon.com
Dio "Playboy" Rodríguez grows up poor with a drunk single mother in gritty Las Vegas, leading him into gang life at 13. Now 17, Dio hides a softer side beneath a fierce exterior that's known only to his middle school sweetheart, Jennifer. But when a drive-by leaves Jennifer wounded and sends Dio to prison boot camp, their soul mate relationship is put to the test.
(Note: The video works best when listened to with headphones.)
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
by Eve Summers
From Red Rose Publishing
Buy link: http://redrosepublishing.com/bookstore/product_info.php?manufacturers_id=155&products_id=363
Why would a massage session in a Fiji holiday resort make Tanya the Ice Queen so sex-starved that she would actually consider paying for sex?
It can't be her project of researching Internet dating sites! Those losers wouldn't be able to turn on a woman even if she came complete with an ON switch.
It can't be the delicious island cocktails of tropical fruit, cream and vodka... even if their names (like Sex On The Beach and Hot Screaming Orgasm) make you blush when you order them.
What is making Tanya lose her focus? Could it be the tight black jeans on the tight black arse of Randy Andy, the alleged con artist?
* * * * *
Throw Me Down and F- Me
The Throw Me Down and F- Me Cocktail Recipe
1 1/2 tsp Southern Comfort® peach liqueur
1 1/2 tsp Crown Royal® Canadian whisky
2 tsp grenadine syrup
1 tsp pineapple juice
Place the two liquors into the bottom of a shot glass. Add pineapple juice and grenadine, mix well, and serve.
The moment Tanya Redford spotted the caramel-skinned hunk in the hotel foyer she knew two things: that the guy was a con artist and that she was in trouble–big time.
The con was in the sincere angle of his shoulders and in the forthright gaze. The con was in his smile, vulnerable with honesty. The con was in his bad boy charm.
The mixture meant trouble of mega proportions.
Tanya didn’t mean to listen in on the conversation...All right, she did. The hunk’s voice was like Kahlua and it slid delectably over her, caressing her skin and tingling her spine.
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a poker player, Mr. Lockhorne,” he leaned his body in toward an elderly couple and spread out his arms. “You’d hate me for spoiling your evening.”
While Tanya did not believe the “not much of a poker player” part, she agreed with the rest of the statement. It would be easy to hate this guy once he’d cheated you at the poker table. She already hated him for the way her nipples tensed up at the sight of his predator-like mouth and for the way her hands ached to stroke his tight jeans.
“Nonsense,” the elderly gentleman’s voice boomed across the hall. “We don’t take the game seriously. But evenings are so boring in this place– there is only so much Fijian dancing an old grump like me can watch in a week."
“Surely, with a delightful wife like yours–” The conman’s eyes blazed brazen as he lifted Mrs. Lockhorne’s wrinkled hand to his mouth.
He held it there for about one hundred years, while Tanya looked on, transfixed. The air around her thickened, she gulped its heat in short shallow breaths. She would give all her days in this five-star beach resort in exchange for one night with that mouth.
“Oh, go on, Andy,” the other woman laughed and tilted her head, her hand still captive on his lips. “Coming from anybody else, that comment would have sounded sleazy.”
“Ma’am, I can assure you…” His cheeky grin belied the words.
Andy. The owner of the best jean-clad arse she has seen in years– make that “ever”–was called Andy. His name sent a prickling awareness up and down her spine.
Randy Andy. Andy-Candy. Neat.
Tanya’s pulse quickened, and she almost heard the rapid rush of blood to her head. Andy looked like the type of guy who threw you down onto the white Fijian sand without asking and f-ed you until the seventh orgasm.
Bad boys - who could resist them?
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Thursday, July 23, 2009
"Your family and friends can use their computer and sign on to http://www.blogtalkradio.com/yolandarenee if they register they can participate in the chat room as well as hear the show, if they choose not to register they can still hear the show. They can also call in at (347) 215-9536 just to listen, or if they press the one key on their phone I can open their mic and they can ask you a direct question. The show also has a click to talk feature and if they have a mic for their computer they can click that button and talk to you that way. To register, just means to give an email -- choose a name -- add an icon and participate in chat. Check it out and see what is comfortable. Also, ask them to rate the show and or mark it as a favorite -- it benefits everyone that way! "
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Two Great Beach Reads! ONCE UPON A MOONLIT PATH and CONFESSIONS OF A VICTORIAN MASTER: LADY M by Cheri Valmont
From Siren Publishing
All her life, Fi Carmichael has harbored serious doubts about her family’s curse, and the dire consequences she’d suffer if she ever fell in love.
Scotsman Hugh MacFarlane has been roaming the garden of Mirkheath Manor for over a century, awaiting the second chance promised to him on the night of his death.
Just days from being forced into a loveless marriage, Fi’s chance encounter with the mysterious Hugh in the garden of her family’s ancestral home stir forbidden feelings inside her and has her rethinking her doubts. She soon realizes that in order for her to have her heart’s desire, she must first break the curse.
Determined to be together, Hugh and Fi race against time, searching the manor for clues on how to regain her freedom to love and his to live, and discovering that love, forgiveness, and a promise of a future began once upon a moonlit path…
* * * * *
“Come back to my room with me,” she begged him.
Hugh shook his head. “I shouldna, Fi. The morn be fast approaching, and soon so will yer family’s guests.”
“Please, just for a short while,” she insisted.
Hugh gave her an indulgent grin. “Verra well, then.” When he tried to follow her, however, he stopped dead at the edge of the garden path.
“I knew my time was near.” He looked down at his body, which had lost its physical substance and returned to the incandescent shimmering of his ghostly body.
“No!” Fi cried out in anguish and stepped back onto the garden path, reaching for him.
Hugh’s frown turned to a sad smile, as tears appeared in Fi’s eyes, rolling down her cheeks.
CONFESSIONS OF A VICTORIAN MASTER: LADY M
by Cheri Valmont
From Siren Publishing
Buy link: http://www.sirenpublishing.com/cherivalmont
In the straight-laced Victorian Era, Jason Featherington is the man fiancés, husbands, and fathers turn to when their unruly female relatives are too hard to handle. His specialty in the discipline of the fairer sex is renowned within the ton. He makes a fine living from his endeavors and certainly enjoys it.
Jason's current client, Lord M, is unable to get his wife with child because of her unusual sexual proclivities.
To help Lord M solve his dilemma, Jason must first learn the secrets of Lady M's initiation into the intimacies of the flesh. And with his observation of her with her initiator, and his own intervention, he is determined to assist Lord and Lady M to deepen and enhance their relationship to a level neither dreamed possible.
* * * * *
"I'm in need of your expertise, my good man." Lord M.'s pleading request had indeed surprised Jason Featherington—not that it should have. Jason was well known in elite London circles for his abilities in the discipline of the fairer sex. His accomplishments were what kept him in expensive starched cravats and luxurious rigs fit for a king. "My young wife has shown an uncommon knowledge of the…um…sexual arts for one still a virgin when I took her to wife. When I questioned her, she…ah…was very," cough, "forthcoming about it."
"And the problem would be?" Jason encouraged as he stared across his large desk toward his visitor. The man did not seem homely or so unattractive that it would cause a young wife's disgust. The man's well-groomed hair appeared as black as the wing of a raven. He possessed dark eyes that Jason suspected could be expressive if not as guarded as they were presently. Jason noted Lord M.'s symmetrical features, handsome features, he could admit, if not for the man's slightly drawn facial expression, leaving him wondering what had caused this gentleman's distress.
Unless the lady was in love with someone else?
As Jason watched, Lord M. swallowed with difficulty, the red of shame sweeping up into his light olive complexioned face. He averted his eyes, staring with contrived interest at Jason's well-stocked bookcase.
Good heavens. What could be wrong with this man's bride to cause him such a reaction?
"I can assure you of the utmost discretion, my lord." This was one of the reasons Jason never thought about his clients by their last names, even to himself, on the off chance he might mistakenly mention them in front of his servants, including his most trusted manservant, Henry. "If you've had a recommendation from one of my prior clients, they will have told you I am the soul of such. Now, please tell me what has you in such a state of anxiety." Jason leaned back, stretching his legs before him, resting his steepled hands across his belly. He wanted the man relaxed. Only then would he get the information he needed.
Lord M. looked toward him again, his dark eyes lit with uncertainty. With his impeccably dressed form leaning forward as if about to impart a secret destined to ruin him, he began, "My wife…she…eh…"
Jason had to admit this situation intrigued him now. Obviously the lady had her husband shaken up. "Out with it, my lord. Your wife what?"
Blushing again, the young lordling burst out with, "She seems unable to find release in the normal fashion!"
What? What the devil was the man blathering about? "In the normal fashion? Are you saying she cannot find her release with copulation?"
Now the raven-haired man looked ready to sink through the floorboards of Jason's warmly furnished study. "Not normal copulation," Lord M. insisted. As if unable to help himself, he rose, pacing before Jason's desk with enough briskness to wear a hole in his imported Chinese rug.
Would you like to win a copy? Post a comment telling Cheri which book you'd like and why, and you just might!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Save the date! October 23-25, 2009 - The Authors After Dark Paranormal Weekend is filling up fast! Sign up by August 1st to get the lowest membership rate of $160 for the weekend. (After August 1st, the membership goes to $175.)
The event is being held at the Suffern, NY Holiday Inn, located conveniently about 1 hour from New York City and most of the area’s major airports. Guest include:
Joey W. Hill
Stella and Audra Price
Robin T. Popp
Area attractions include the phenomenal shopping at Woodbury Common (http://www.premiumoutlets.com/outlets/outlet.asp?id=7) and the Forest of Fear (http://www.theforestoffear.com/home.php), held on the site of the New York State Renaissance Faire at Sterling Forest.
The convention is limited to 200 attendees so your “face time” with your favorite authors is maximized. We’re having loads of panel discussions, parties and a fantabulous dealer’s room. We’ll also be holding a massive charity raffle to benefit the CAN and Pets Alive – a local no kill animal shelter.
Sign up now for the best rates! The conference registration is only $160 until August 1st ($175 after August 1st) and the hotel is $99 per night, double occupancy. Lots to do in the area will make this a weekend you will never forget!
Monday, July 20, 2009
by Emma Jay
Published by The Wild Rose Press
Though she knows it's a mistake, that this decision may affect the office atmosphere, she gives into her desire and allows him to show her exquisite pleasure in public places. From the back of a limousine to his office to an alcove in a museum, each sexual encounter is exciting, challenging, terrifying. Each encounter shows her more of who she is. Each encounter risks her heart. Now if only she can convince him to risk his.
A knock on the door several minutes later drew Vicente’s attention from the computer screen, and he looked up to see Veronica slip through the door, almost like she was sneaking in. He removed his wire-framed reading glasses to watch her as, with the flick of one hand, she closed the blinds of his office.
He leaned back and watched her approach, a grin stretching his lips. He’d been wrong about her clothes. She’d discarded the blazer and wore the same silky blouse from last night, still without a bra. The sway of her magnificent breasts beneath the fabric mesmerized him, but not enough for him to miss that the ankle length skirt revealed a long stretch of leg with each step. It was no more than a piece of fabric wrapped around her slim hips and hooked only at the waist. The easy accessibility sent blood rushing to his groin. When she reached up and released the clip from her hair, sending the piece of plastic sliding across the desk beside his glasses, his body came to full attention as her hair tumbled around her shoulders.
“You were a very good sport last night,” she said, circling his desk.
He pivoted his chair to face her and she stepped between his knees, bent at the waist, her hair falling forward, her blouse drooping enough to give him a view of her tantalizing cleavage. He thought about asking her if she locked the door, but she placed a hand on his chest and he didn’t want to break the contact, even to insure their privacy.
“I want to give you a small token of my appreciation.”
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Sunday, July 19, 2009
Going beachcombing? Don't overlook those bits of frosty glass.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
by Ginger Simpson
Publisher: Red Rose Publishing
Buy link: http://redrosepublishing.com/bookstore/product_info.php?cPath=23_45&products_id=520
For reasons unknown to Meagan Murphy, her father won’t allow her to date anyone in uniform. Through her volunteer efforts at the USO, she meets Ryan Cullen and throws caution to the wind. Ryan only has a short time before his unit is shipped overseas, and they have to make the most of the time they have left together. Ryan deploys, but not before he puts a ring on her finger and asks her to wait. Will he return and win her hand from her father... or are all those nightly radio newscasts about casualties warning her to prepare for the worst?
Texas, March 1943
Meagan Murphy tapped her toe beneath the food-laden table despite the fact she‘d been hunched over it for hours, dishing out portions at the weekly USO dance. Preferring to find a partner and have a little fun, she methodically spooned mashed potatoes onto passing plates and eyed the jitterbugs on the floor.
"Can I have some gravy, please?" A deep voice drew her attention.
The eyes she looked into were darker than the sauce he requested, and his perfectly formed lips curved into a dimpled smile. She cleared her throat and picked up the ladle. "Say when."
"How about right after I polish off this chow."
"Excuse me?" She cocked a brow.
"You said, say when. I thought you were inviting me to dance." He winked.
There was something about him—different from the other GIs. She‘d found flirting a common occurrence here and ignored it, but this brazen specimen piqued her interest. Still, she didn‘t dare encourage him. "I meant tell me how much gravy you want on your potatoes." She drizzled juice over his plate.
"When!" He smiled then dabbed at a spot of gravy on the plate‘s edge. "About that dance…" He licked his finger clean.
The fellow behind him cast an impatient stare at her.
"You‘re holding up the line," she said, feeling her cheeks heat. She grew tired of the mingling food aromas.
"Tell me your name, and I‘ll move along."
"Meagan. Now scoot. You‘re going to get us both into trouble." She glanced across the room to where her father sat. She hated when he dropped in. His presence was such a damper on the evening. He forbade her to show anything more than polite attention to men in uniform.
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Friday, July 17, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Two Great Beach Reads! CROWNING A WARRIOR KING by Diana Castilleja, and WATCHING HER EVERY MOVE by Diana DeRicci
Life has been calm and quiet for Aran for almost seven years since moving into Banter. She is a prosperous business owner, has friends, and helps those in need without question. Yet a delivery of a mysterious jewel encrusted box changes all of that for her in an instant.
Not only is the mysterious box enchanted, revealing someone knows of her deepest secrets, it imprisons a man unlike any other. Bold, fearsome, strong. A warrior from a place she's never heard of, a land she's never known. And the most glaring fact to his arrival is she is the only one with the knowledge to set him free, with a magic he cannot trust.
Rordan must return to the kingdom of Eglandor to stop the wicked sorceress who has imprisoned him, deliver the throne to King Tah-lel's appointed heir, and fulfill his destiny with the woman from another time, another world. And there's only so much time to do it all with the King's health failing and an uprising from within only waiting for the moment to claim the throne.
Janel waited, still and silent in the near darkness of the gray predawn hours. Hidden in the depths of the forest's shadows, his sharp gaze swept constantly for any sign of discovery. He wrapped his cloak a little closer, ignoring the chill of the early spring night. His horse stood solid, battle trained and steady under his hand, a mere flick of an ear alerting him to an approaching rider. Unexpectedly, an owl flew overhead to settle into the warped branches of a nearby tree, quieting to settle down for the remainder of the night time hours. Janel dismissed the night raptor with hardly a thought, comforting his horse when he felt the impatient twitch of hardened muscles beneath him. Janel could sympathize. He was not feeling too patient himself.
Out of the darkness beyond the trees where he could see, a faint bird's call reached him, then sounded again. Janel answered in kind and felt a swell of relief to know Quinn had arrived. His presence meant the first stages of their plans had been successful, or so he hoped.
He slid silently from his saddle to the forest floor, a thick carpeting of leaves of past autumns cushioning his booted step. Janel's hand poised naturally yet alert on the hilt of his sword until he could discern Quinn's form in the shadows for himself.
Janel was a warrior, a Captain of his King's favored guard and tonight, he, Quinn and Loden had undertaken a mission that the very Kingdom was dependent on. Janel only had mere hours to complete his task once set into motion. He was proud he had been granted this opportunity to again prove himself worthy. He had the highest honor any guardsman could hope for. The chance to protect the King and the kingdom.
Janel lifted a pensive hand to Quinn's horse's bridle, and asked just one question. "Was Loden successful?"
Quinn, tall and dark, slid from his horse with the grace of his kind. With his answer, Janel felt a flare of hope. "He was. I have the box."
Title CROWNING A WARRIOR KING
Author name DIANA CASTILLEJA
Publisher TEASE PUBLISHING
Buy link July 15th, ARe books
Neither do they expect her to be targeted as the only person who may know where the vanished chips may be.
Jonas leapt at the man as his prey tried to scramble over the poor woman he’d crashed into.
“Freeze,” he snarled, shackling the man’s collar in a relentless grip. He yanked at the young man, almost a boy really, practically jerking him to his feet in his rush of anger, forgetting to watch his strength for a brief moment. Jonas would have caught him. No one could outrun him. The poor woman had just made it a shorter chase. The young man lurched off of the woman he’d collided with, flailing and clawing to wrench himself free.
“Stacee.” The woman who had blocked any other avenue of his guy’s getaway dropped to her knees, shopping bags scattered in colorful disarray around the pair. Staring at her unmoving friend in numb shock, her features paled. Jonas couldn’t spare either more than a glance. His attention was on the guy in his fist, but it bothered him that she still lay prone on the ground.
The youth twisted and fought against the steel of Jonas’s grip but there was no way in Hell he’d let him get away now. Not after months of surveillance and tracking. Too much was at stake in this investigation. “Where is the packet?” Yanking uncooperative hands behind his back, Jonas snapped handcuffs on his capture. Deep draughts filled his lungs after his three block chase.
“I don’t have anything!” he shouted.
Jonas shook him and the youth’s light black jacket shimmied and swayed with the force behind Jonas’s tugs. He bucked his shoulders trying to dislodge Jonas. It didn’t work. He shoved him against glass, pressing him into the storefront with no remorse. Jonas was oblivious to the gathering crowd gawking and murmuring amongst themselves. His attention was on one person only. He searched the young man’s pockets and along his waistband for anything. He scowled when he came up empty on all counts.
“Where is it?” Jonas demanded, leaning in close to make sure his growl of anger wasn’t missed. Or misunderstood. Stupidly, the young man showed no fear at the threat right behind him.
All Jonas got in answer was a smug, arrogant smirk over a shoulder.
“That isn’t going to work on the judge,” he warned quietly, leaning in to make sure the point wasn’t lost on his quarry. Sirens wailed. The street cops were arriving along with his department. There was no mistaking the two different types of vehicles. People began to crush in wanting to see more. Damn ‘bloody wreck’ gawkers! Of course, no one had stopped to help the poor woman out cold on the pavement. He had moments when he just hated the human race.
“Step back!” Jonas shouted over the crowd. “Police business.” Most ignored him, stopping like statues rather than dispersing. They were smart enough to create an invisible line and not cross it. Good to know his snarl still worked. No sense in escalating the free drama into a full blown riot.
“Stacee,” the other woman whimpered, brushing away a tangle of auburn red hair from her friend’s face. Only about two minutes had passed since she’d been hit, but she still wasn’t moving.
He couldn’t let go of the blonde guy in his grip, but spared the unconscious woman a quick studying look. Shoulder length hair spilled across her back, where he did a quick inventory down to a tapered waist and a very nice rear, showcased by designer’s intuition in form-fitting jeans. “Is she breathing?”
Her friend snapped up at his question, her eyes full of worry, then nodded from her side on the ground.
WATCHING HER EVERY MOVE
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
by Angel Martinez
Available now from
Red Rose Publishing
Sanity is relative and the world has room for more than one truth.
When Diego rescues a naked man from the rail of the Brooklyn Bridge, he just wants to get the poor man out of traffic and over to social services. He gets more than he bargained for when Finn turns out to be an ailing pooka, poisoned by the pollution of the city. To help him recover, Diego takes him north to New Brunswick where Finn inadvertently wakes an ancient, evil spirit, the wendigo.
While Diego and Finn struggle to find a way to destroy the wendigo before it can possess Diego or kill nearby innocents, Diego wrestles with his growing passion for Finn. Can they succeed in destroying the monster and in navigating a relationship between a modern man and a centuries-old fairy?
The figure crouched on the bridge shocked Diego so thoroughly he drove a hundred yards before he realized what he had seen.
A man squatted on his heels on the rail, one hand on a cable, the other clutching a ragged blanket at his throat. Threadbare cloth flapped around bare ankles. The persistent wind yanked it this way and that to show flashes of naked legs.“Holy shit,” Diego muttered, as he wrestled his ancient Toyota into the nearest side street to park. This was none of his business. Didn’t he have enough problems? Even as he argued with himself he ran, dodging traffic and ignoring angry epithets as he pelted back up the bridge against traffic. The inevitable gaper delay had slowed the flow at least, making his precarious journey easier.
People stared from the safety of their vehicles as they inched along, but no one stopped to help.
Diego ignored them. His primary concern was not to startle the man into falling. He slowed his approach, ready to offer soothing words, but the man heard his footsteps. Long black hair whipped and snaked in the wind, hiding his face, though Diego caught a glimpse of bared teeth.
“Did you come after me?” the jumper snarled. “I won’t go back.”
“Go back where?” Diego seized the opportunity to start the man talking.
The jumper shook his head to clear the hair from his eyes and peered at Diego with black eyes – not dark brown, but black, set in deep, shadowed sockets. “No, I suppose you don’t look like one of those,” he said in a softly accented, weary voice.
“One of who?” Diego edged closer to stand next to him.
“The ones who shut me in the iron cage. I changed. I escaped.” His words seemed to stick in his throat and even above the traffic, Diego heard him swallow hard. “But now I’m too tired. I can’t...and the river is so filthy. I think it might kill me.”
At least he doesn’t sound like he wants to die. “Look, if you don’t want the police catching up to you, or the hospital staff, or whoever it is, this is about the worst thing you could do. You’re upsetting all these people and attracting a lot of attention. They’ll be here any minute.” Diego reached out a hand, palm up. “Please come down. Let’s get you safe and out of the wind. Then we’ll see about straightening all this out.”
The man regarded him through the shifting curtain of hair for a long moment. “What are you called?”
Depends who you talk to. “My name is Diego. Diego Sandoval.” He lurched forward, his stomach plummeting to his feet, when the man swayed, but the jumper retained his place on the rail.
The man repeated his name a few times as if trying it out, and then nodded. “It’s a good name. Pleasurable to say.”
“I am called Fionnachd.”
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Sunday, July 12, 2009
Something lives in the big black plastic garbage bag. Something that isn't human. Something that depends on the goodwill of others to provide it with food. Fortunately, it's not particular if its meal is dead, long dead... or alive.
Ms. Smith definitely knows how to write a story. I was reading along the first page or so not expecting at all what came next. I am a great reader of horror stories. Never have I been grabbed by the throat and so thoroughly scared within a matter of a few pages. The fact that this writer can generate that kind of emotion in a reader in a story that is less than 20 pages speaks volumes. There is build up; there is anticipation; there is speculation, and there is a whopping, power-punch conclusion. This is one story not to be missed by any fan of great horror stories.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Kelley Garrett? She’s got a secret. A big one. She’s hoping to shake its grip but even someplace as peaceful as Chincoteague Island may not be able to shelter her.
Then again, who knows? Maybe it will. That’s a chance Kelley’s willing to gamble on—with her life.
She heard her mother sigh. With a sigh of her own, Kelley waited for the admonishment, the unsolicited advice, the endless, never-changing diatribe sure to come next. She waited, and was surprised when it didn’t come.
“Ah, well. Yes, I suppose a day can get away from you now and again.” The voice was as soft as cotton candy, so sweet and innocent that it may have fooled someone else with its assumed sincerity. But Kelley knew the woman behind the voice too well. She wasn’t lulled into a false sense of security.
“Yes, I suppose.” Kelley’s fingers tightened on the cell phone. She wished she had the guts to cut the conversation off now, to snap the phone shut and shove it back into the pocket of her jeans. Hard and fast, into the farthest corner where even if it rang again she wouldn’t have to answer it. Had it not been her mother on the other end of the line, she may have been able to do it. But it was her mother, the woman who had brought her into this world, and she owed the woman more respect than she wanted to give.
In the end, Kelley’s mother was faster than she was, anyhow. Even if she’d been about to hang up, she would have missed her chance. The voice from the phone was whip fast and to the point.
“Well, just as long as you don’t let many more days slip by, Kelley. Have you given any more thought to what we discussed the other night? And the night before that? And last week?”
Softness turned hard quickly. Silk became steel and the questions shot like rounds from an assault rifle, ricocheting through her mind, causing a clatter that made the storm trivial by comparison. “A job, Kelley Garrett. You need a job. Not later, but now. Have you considered that? Are there any places on that island that could offer you the type of employment you’re qualified for? Because it’s time. You know it and I know it. Even Dr. Stevens knows it. You need to find a job.”
Her hand rose in front of her face, holding back the traffic that was her mother’s tirade. “Dr. Stevens? You spoke to Dr. Stevens about this?”
“Today. Just this afternoon, in fact. This afternoon, when you were letting time drift by as if you have an endless supply of it. Life is short, Kelley. You can’t let it pass you by forever, you know. Time is measured.”
Like a dragon rearing its head, Kelley’s temper roared to life. Her reply came in clipped bursts whose volume lessened with each volley. “Believe me, I know. Time is measured. No reminders, Mother. I don’t need reminders. In case you’ve forgotten. Measured time—stolen time—lost time? I know them all. Intimately. And a job? I’ll get one when—and if—I’m good and ready.”
“Kelley, I don’t want to—”
Her palm smacked the wide glass pane before her. The reinforced material, specially manufactured to withstand hurricane force winds and off-course seagulls, withstood the brunt of her anger.
“And tell Dr. Stevens to go to Hell. I fired him, remember? He’s not my therapist anymore. And one more thing, Mother—”
“But, Kelley, he just wants to help—”
Lightning speared the world outside, and for a heartbeat Kelley saw her reflection in the glass. The woman staring back at her looked as unpredictable, tortured and out of control as the raging storm.
“Remember, I cut Dr. Stevens out of my life. I can cut anyone out. Anyone.”
With a sound that was almost a snarl, Kelley slapped the cell phone closed. She dropped it to the floor and put her forehead against the cool glass. Her sobs came quickly. Her body slid down the windowpane and she slumped on the floor, shaking and gasping for air.
SANDSWEPT: A CHINCOTEAGUE ISLAND MYSTERY
by Sarita Leone
EBook formats ISBN: 978-1-60313-458-3
Trade paperback ISBN: 978-1-60313-457-6
Buy Here from Whiskey Creek Press
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Friday, July 10, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
I got to put my $.02 in on the matter.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Alva was in the hallway. Guido had brought in a small suitcase. Of course she would have very little to bring.
Count Luca San Giovanni Mazareeze looked down on her from the top of the stairs. She looked even smaller from this viewpoint and more slender and delicate than he could ever remember her being. Of course she would look delicate, she had been seriously ill after being injured in a near fatal accident. Her silvery blond hair was pulled back from her face and caught in a French pleat. There were tiny bruises beneath her eyes, more yellow than purple now, and several small healing cuts at her forehead and chin. The consultant that he had spoken to on the telephone had said the scarring was superficial and would not be permanent.
She was wearing a dark navy suit; it was not a good fit, the jacket being a little large at the shoulders, and the skirt at her hips. Her shoes were unflattering pumps but in spite of it, she was still that rather ethereal beautiful Alva that he remembered.
He went down the stairs; the luxurious carpet softening his tread, she seemed miles away and obviously did not hear him. She actually started like a frightened deer when he said her name. "Alva."
The man was tall and very dark; his skin a warm olive, his hair black and thick and luxurious and the eyes that swept her were the colour of old gold. His features were imperious; the Roman nose, fine sculptured cheekbones and thin, but well shaped lips, all giving him the appearance of the true aristocrat.
She knew his name, had memorized it. Count Luca San Giovanni Mazareze, that he was the il Perdone, that this island of Santa Caterina was his. All these things had been told to her in the hospital. All these things she could believe but what she could not accept, or even take in was that this man, this man who seemed so cold and aloof was actually her husband!
"You had a good journey?" He asked.
"Thank you, yes…" she murmured softly. "I am sorry about this, Conte but I don’t remember anything."
"So I understand," he murmured coolly. His eyes swept her from tip to toe and she felt her cheeks colouring. His appraisal obviously found her wanting for he turned to the Chauffeur who was still waiting by the door.
The Conte addressed him in rapid Italian, asking for Claudia to be sent for so that she could show the Contessa to her room. Alva caught some of it, looking confused at the term Contessa but of course, if she were still his wife, then it made sense that she was still the Contessa. They were not divorced, that much she had gleaned but they had been separated for two years. Odd that there had not been a divorce in all that time, yet she knew she dare not pursue the reasons just yet, if in fact ever, for she could not see herself ever having a conversation with this cold and rather snooty man.
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Publisher Robert Hale Limited, London.
Where to buy –
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
From Wild Rose Press
Things should be peaceful in Paradise, Florida. Right? But not for Yuma Hawk, the new director of security at the gated community of Royal Breezes. He's fast falling in love with a woman who has enough secrets to sink a submarine and one of those secrets just may cost him his job. Roy, his worst enemy, has just blown into town and fallen -- literally and figuratively-- for Yuma's administrative assistant. That same assistant has just hired a guard with no skills because he slightly resembles George Clooney. Eric, the newbie, is a menace to the community and himself. Could things get any worse? Come to Paradise and find out.
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Saturday, July 4, 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Since Intimate Flames circles my favorite holiday, Fourth of July, and I love the sun, the beach and everything hot, as my thanks to Linda for having me, I’m offering a wonderful summer prize package. Just leave a comment for your chance to win a beach tote, big enough for all your summer supplies, a bottle of sunscreen to protect you from the harmful rays of the sun and an autographed copy of Intimate Flames, the perfect Summer romance read!
You can pick up your copy of Intimate Flames at the publishers site http://www.whiskeycreekpress.com/ or visit my website http://annettesnyder.atspace.com/ for more information on my work. Once you’re there, don’t forget to check out my Event’s page. You find the latest information about an online, monthly book club I host called Lost in a Good Book at Writers and Readers of Distinctive Fiction. Thanks for stopping by and I’m wishing you time this summer season to enjoy many picnics and days at the beach or pool with your family.
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Viveka's War--Available Now
Intimate Flames releasing July 2009
Lost in a Good Book--WRDF Book Club
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
So sit back, enjoy a tall glass of lemonade, and I'll be serving up a month's worth of special authors with a slew of new reads you'll just have to check out!