Book Spotlight – Page 3 – Read-Love-Blog

Teetotaled by Maia Chance…Book Spotlight & Excerpt

TEETOTALED

By National Bestselling Author Maia Chance

After her philandering husband died and left her penniless in Prohibition-era New York, Lola Woodby escaped with her Swedish cook to the only place she could¯her deceased husband’s secret love nest in the middle of Manhattan. Her only comforts were chocolate cake, dime store detective novels, and the occasional highball (okay, maybe not so occasional). But rent came due and Lola and Berta were forced to accept the first job that came their way, leading them to set up shop as private detectives operating out of Alfie’s cramped love nest.

Now Lola and Berta are in danger of losing the business they’ve barely gotten off the ground¯work is sparse and money is running out. So when a society matron offers them a job, they take it¯even if it means sneaking into a slimming and exercise facility and consuming only water and health food until they can steal a diary from Grace Whiddle, a resident at the “health farm.” But barely a day in, Grace and her diary escape from the facility¯and Grace’s future mother-in-law is found murdered on the premises. Lola and Berta are promptly fired. But before they can climb into Lola’s brown and white Duesenberg Model A and whiz off the health farm property, they find themselves with a new client and a new charge: to solve the murder of Grace’s future mother-in-law.

Teetotaled, Maia Chance’s sparkling new mystery will delight readers with its clever plotting, larger-than-life characters, and rich 1920s atmosphere.

Read on for a sneak peek of

The Discreet Retrieval Agency #2:

TEETOTALED

Everything in life that’s any fun, as somebody wisely observed, is either immoral, illegal or fattening. —P. G. Wodehouse

July 14, 1923

The afternoon Sophronia Whiddle offered us the diary job, it was so hot you could’ve sizzled bacon on the sidewalk. Which wasn’t a half bad idea, come to think of it, except that I was out of funds for bacon. I’d been living on shredded wheat for days. All right, hours.

My detecting partner Berta Lundgren and I were reading at the kitchen table in our poky little Washington Square apartment, waiting for the telephone to ring. Stagnant city air puffed in from the window. My Pomeranian, Cedric, panted in front of an electric fan. I yawned, and turned a page of the latest issue of Thrilling Romance.

“Mrs. Woodby, would it be remiss of me to suggest that you spend your leisure hours reading edifying publications?” Berta asked in her stern Swedish accent. She held up her book. Mexico City Mayhem, by Frank B. Jones, Jr. The cover depicted a man in a fedora wrestling a sinister-looking fellow in some sort of Aztec temple.

“That is edifying?” I asked.

“Indeed. Thad Parker’s advice for decrypting ancient hieroglyphics could benefit our detective agency. Thrilling Romance is merely, well, pulp.”

“But Jake Cadwell, Wall Street tycoon, is about to propose marriage to innocent young Lucinda from the typing pool. It’s all she’s ever dreamed of.”

“I do realize you are pining for the absent Ralph Oliver—”

“Pining? What absolute hooey.”

“—but between you and me, Mrs. Woodby, if a man abruptly ceases to telephone, well, it is an indication that he has lost interest.”

“I don’t give a squirrel’s acorn about what Ralph Oliver may or may not be interested in. Besides, he’s on a job in Cuba.”

“If you say so.”

I gave Thrilling Romance a shake and resumed reading.

The clock ticked.

I looked up. “I happened to notice that you boing like a broken spring every time the telephone jingles.”

“I am hopeful for detective work.”

“Not hopeful that Jimmy the Ant wishes to squire you the movie palace?”

“Mr. Ant must keep a low profile for a time.”

“He’s hiding from the Feds, you know.”

Berta sent me a dirty look, patted her gray bun, and went back to her book.

Is this what had become of the newly-hatched Discreet Retrieval Agency? Two sweaty, bickering ladies waiting for ginky fellows to telephone?

We needed work.

A knock at the apartment door launched me to the little entry foyer. Berta wasn’t far behind. Cedric made a half-hearted yap but stayed in the kitchen. He had been lackluster lately because he was on strict kibble rations. If he didn’t slim down in time for his photograph session in two weeks, the people at Spratt’s Puppy Biscuits weren’t going to use him in their advertising campaign. Cedric’s career would be over before it began.

“You do not have shoes on, Mrs. Woodby,” Berta said. “If it is a client—”

“Oh, they’ll understand,” I said, and opened the door. At first it seemed that no one was there. Just the stairwell, stinking of mildew and fried onions. Then I noticed the snub-nosed five-year-old boy.

“Oh, hello, Sam,” I said. “What have you there?”

“Five cents, m’am,” Sam lisped. He held up a grubby nickel. “Ma said this is for finding Puffy.”

“Thanks awfully, Sam, but why don’t you keep your money? Tell your mother the job is on us. Puffy was only behind the water tank on the roof. He wasn’t really lost.”

“Okay, sure, thanks something fierce, Mrs. Woodby!” Sam pocketed the nickel and scampered up the stairs in the direction of his family’s third-floor apartment.

I shut the door and turned.

Berta blocked the foyer doorway like a daunting garden gnome. “This simply will not do,” she said.

“You’re preaching to the choir.”

“What has our commission been since we printed our business cards? Zilch.”

“Don’t remind me. I drank the last drop of whiskey last night. I’m now an unwilling teetotaler.”

We drifted back to the kitchen.

In the past month, our fledgling agency had solved a total of five cases: Disappearing milk bottles, nicked newspapers, two lost cats (including Puffy) and a spying endeavor involving the teenaged Martin Ulsky and his two-timing ways. The only payment we’d accepted was a set of Mrs. Bent’s hand-knitted egg cozies. The egg cozies were pretty cute.

“The rent will be due again,” Berta said.

“That’s the trouble with rent.”

“Perhaps we should take out a larger newspaper advertisement. I knew the one-and-a-half inch square would not attract enough notice.”

Another knock sounded on the door. Cedric didn’t bother yapping this time.

Berta and I locked desperate eyes.

“For pity’s sake, Mrs. Woodby, put on your shoes.”

Once I’d stuffed my feet into a pair of t-straps, Berta opened the door.

“I had almost decided that I had the wrong address,” a stout, elegant, middle-aged woman said. “But I see it is indeed you, Lola Woodby.” Her eyes flicked to Berta. “And . . . your cook?”

“Mrs. Lundgren used to be my cook,” I said. “How pleasant to see you, Mrs. Whiddle.” Seeing Sophronia Whiddle was about as pleasant as an ingrown toenail. Sophronia was not only a New York grande dame, but my own mother’s bosom friend. Mother, by the way, had no inkling that I’d gone into the gumshoe trade. I was supposed to be mourning my recently popped-off ball and chain, Alfie. But since Alfie had left me high and dry, I was no longer a pampered, thirty-one year old Society Matron. I was a working lady. At least, I was trying to be a working lady.

Sophronia did a once-over of my wrinkly, last-season dress, my mussed dark brown bob, and my wide mouth and blue eyes that I hadn’t spruced up with lipstick or mascara. I was conserving the last of my department store cosmetics.

“Might I come in?” Sophronia asked.

“Of course,” I said.

Berta and I led Sophronia through to the sitting room. I slid magazines and dime novels under a sofa cushion. I hid the dregs of last night’s highball behind knick-knacks on the mantel. “Please, sit,” I said.

Sophronia perched gingerly on the sofa as though she feared contracting a health concern. Which was indeed a faint possibility, given that this was Alfie’s former love nest. Untold cavortings with chorus girls had occurred on that sofa.

Berta and I sat in the two chairs facing the sofa.

“What brings you here, Mrs. Whiddle?” I asked. “I wasn’t aware that Mother knew of this address. Is it something to do with the Ladies’ Opera Society?”

“Your mother knows nothing of this, and she never shall.”

Oh, thank goodness.

Sophronia extracted a slip of newsprint from her handbag and unfolded it to reveal our advertisement. “‘The Discreet Retrieval Agency’? ‘No job too trivial’?”

“Oh. Right. Yes, that’s us,” I said. “You weren’t surprised to see us, yet our names aren’t on the advertisement. How did you know?”

“Does it matter? I have a job for you. I wish to keep the matter among the right sort of people, you see.” Sophronia folded the paper and replaced it in her handbag. “You must retrieve my daughter Grace’s diary.”

“Can’t you do that yourself?” I asked.

“No, no. Quite impossible. You see, Grace is a peculiar girl, an awkward wallflower, really, and although, alas, she is not terribly bright—she takes after her poor deceased father’s family in that regard—she has, since the age of ten, been a passionate diarist. Scribbles in it incessantly, keeps the back-logs locked in a small safe in her bedroom. She has always guarded her diary with an unbecoming ferocity.”

“Would you explain, Mrs. Whiddle?” Berta asked.

“Once when Grace was fourteen years old—she is nineteen now, you know—I was mildly concerned about her possible interest in a rather too forward grocer’s delivery boy. I wished to look into her diary to discover if I had any real reason to worry. Well, I attempted to take it from Grace while she was sleeping—she sleeps with it under her pillow—and she woke, raving and thrashing, and she bit me! It was terrifying, really.”

“Why do you wish for us to retrieve this diary?” I asked.

“Grace is to be married in eight days—surely you are aware of this, Mrs. Woodby. It is to be the society wedding of the summer. I believe I sent you an invitation months ago.”

“I’d plum forgotten,” I said.

“Grace is to marry Gilbert Morris—you do know the Morrises?”

I nodded. Winfield Morris, Gilbert Morris’s father, was not only a high-society fat cat but a New York state senator.

“Grace will not have another chance like this,” Sophronia said. “She is plump, you see, and she requires glasses. I fear there may be things in her past, recorded in the diary, that could jeopardize her marriage.”

“How do you propose that we retrieve the diary?” I asked.

“How? Well, I would assume that devising the how of the matter is your job, Mrs. Woodby.”

True. “From your house?”

“No, no. From the health farm. Grace is booked in for the week.”

“If your daughter is to be a bride,” Berta said, “why is she visiting a health farm?”

“To slim,” Sophronia said. “She will wear my own wedding gown and the seamstress has already let it out to its utmost capacity. I told Grace it was up to her to do the rest.”

“A nice strong girdle might do the trick,” I said.

Berta said, “In my village in Sweden, the plump girls were the most popular. Men prefer girls who are liberal with butter.”

Sophronia compressed her lipsticked mouth. “At any rate, while Grace is booked into Willow Acres Health Farm on Long Island—do you know it?”

I fell sideways in my chair. “No,” I lied.

“But I understand that your brother-in-law, Dr. Chisholm Woodby, is the owner and head doctor,” Sophronia said.

“Oh, that Willow Acres. Yes. I mean, no. I mean to say no, we simply can’t accept the job.”

“Of course we will accept the job,” Berta said, cutting me a death glare.

I got up and went to the window. I had to look like I was noodling profoundly, even if there wasn’t an ice cube’s chance in Hell that I would say yes. “The job will be compromised,” I said over my shoulder. “Not only are you, Mrs. Whiddle, my own mother’s friend, but Dr. Woodby would not be keen on me checking into his farm. We aren’t precisely pals.”

“We are a discreet agency, Mrs. Whiddle,” Berta said loudly, “and as such we select our cases with great care. . . .”

“Yes, of course,” Sophronia said. “You must discuss it in privacy. I’ll just go and fix my hat in the powder room.”

“Down the hallway on the right,” I said.

Berta and I waited until we heard the bathroom door shut.

“Are you mad, Mrs. Woodby?” Berta whispered. “We must take this job. We are nearly broke.”

“If my mother finds out about our agency, she’ll be angrier than a wet cat and she’ll do everything in her power to put an end to it. She will say I’m ruining the family’s social standing and Father’s Wall Street connections. That I’m crushing Andy’s and Lillian’s” —these were my siblings— “chances of being invited to play tennis with Vanderbilts and Rockefellers and, oh, I don’t know, the King of England. And she’d be correct.”

“Your mother will find out about our agency sooner or later.”

“Golly, I hope not. It’s grisly enough that I’m making a mess of my own life without bringing down my entire family. Anyway, Berta, what about Chisholm? If we go to his health farm, we’ll be at his mercy! I wonder what he does to his patients at that farm. I’d bet a million bucks that health bread has something to do with it.”

“Health bread?” Berta hesitated. “Well, it will only be for a day or two, surely.”

“There’s no guarantee of that.”

“If we are to make a go of this agency, we must do our utmost. Are you willing to do you utmost, Mrs. Woodby?”

Berta was right: I had to take the plunge. Say toodle-pip to my old life and take my future by the horns.

“Well?” Sophronia said, coming back into the sitting room. “If you don’t wish to accept the job, there is another agency that—”

“We’ll do it,” I said.

“I might rely upon your utmost discretion?”

“Of course,” I said, and Berta nodded.

We worked out all the details. Sophronia would pay for our stay at Willow Acres and we would endeavor to pry the diary from Grace Whiddle’s clutches posthaste. Once we delivered the diary to Sophronia at her Long Island estate, Clyde Bluff, we would collect our fee of five hundred clams.

The Discreet Retrieval Agency was back on its feet.

Q&A with Maia Chance – Teetotaled

Do you have a favorite cocktail? Oh yes! It’s a Prohibition-era one, too: The Last Word. It’s a tangy mix of gin, Chartreuse, maraschino liqueur, and lime juice.
What kind of research did you do for this book? I did quite a lot for Teetotaled, particularly researching health farms. It turns out that the 20’s were rife with weird health crazes. I also researched Yankee Stadium, ballroom dancing venues, Swiss finishing schools, wedding dress shops, and Coney Island. For researching the fine details of the historical environment—for instance cars, clothes, and houses—I use images. I love Pinterest for this.
How did you come up with the idea of the “health farm”? By imagining the absolute LAST place Lola and Berta would enjoy being J
Lola Woodby finds comfort in chocolate cake. What’s your favorite treat? Chocolate. I am right there with Lola on that one. Chocolate cake is great, but I prefer the unadulterated stuff.
If you could pick any decade to live in which one would you choose? That’s an interesting question. We tend to think of past decades as more innocent than our own, but I think human beings are always struggling with versions of the same problems. Researching Teetotaled, for example, I was reading about 1920s American politicians, and boy did they sound just like our contemporary politicians. But to answer your question, despite everything I’d say, if I could be a man, I’d pick the 1960s, but as a woman I’d choose the 21^st
Do you have any special writing rituals? I often write standing up, and I take frequent breaks to get up and do weird little exercises (maybe I belong in a health farm). Unless I’m working at the coffee shop, of course. Don’t want to look like “that crazy lady,” you know.
What was the most difficult scene to write in Teetotaled? I’m not sure about a particular scene—Teetotaled was a hoot to write—but I do struggle a little with making sure that the sidekick Berta doesn’t steal the show.
What do you find most endearing about Lola Woodby? Lola gets set back and insulted quite a bit, and she just rolls with the punches. Least endearing? Sometimes she doesn’t say what’s on her mind when it comes to her personal relationships, which leads to misunderstanding.
What book is on your nightstand right now? The Big Fat Lie by Nina Teicholz. It’s the surprisingly intrigue-filled story of the demonization of dietary fat in the 20^th Food history is one of my keen interests.
What’s in store next for the Discreet Retrieval Agency Mysteries? I’m just finishing up book #3 in the series, Gin and Panic. It’s shaping up to be a doozy J

About the author:

MAIA CHANCE writes historical mystery novels that are rife with absurd predicaments and romantic adventure. She is the author of the Fairy Tale Fatal series, The Discreet Retrieval Agency series and the Prohibition-era caper, Come Hell or Highball. Her first mystery, Snow White Red-Handed, was a national bestseller. Maia lives in Seattle, where she shakes a killer martini, grows a mean radish, and bakes mocha bundts to die for. She is a Ph.D. candidate for English at the University of Washington.

Hotshot by Ahren Sanders…Blog Tour Stop

Title: Hotshot
Author: Ahren Sanders
Release Date: August 29, 2016Synopsis:
I don’t remember a time I didn’t love Crenshaw Bennett.
I tried to deny it, but my feelings grew deeper.
I thought he could never love me the way I love him.

I was wrong—outrageously, deliriously, and beautifully wrong.

One innocent kiss changes my life forever.

Suddenly, Shaw is mine.
Loyal, devoted, and the most loving man on this Earth.
Together, we create an explosion of fiery passion, devotion, and chemistry I never knew was possible.

All of my dreams are within reach, but I should have known it was too good to be true.

The past always catches up to you, and I’m left staring at my worst nightmare.

Faced with the unthinkable, I am forced to choose between the man I love and a past I cannot change.

Shaw’s fighting like hell to prove we can have it all, but can I find the strength to be the woman he needs?

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/31277586-hotshot

Purchase Hotshot:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2bwcHkD
BN: http://bit.ly/2bLucMG
Ibooks: http://apple.co/2bwYgIr
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2ca7lvv

About the Author:
Ahren spent her formative years living in an active volcano. There her family made collectible lava art. She studied rock collecting at the Sorbonne in France. There she met the love of her life-her pet pig Sybil. She returned to the states and started writing. She is happily married to a guy who used to live under a bridge and she met while pole-dancing. They have one amazing daughter.

Now, meet the real me. I grew up in the south and consider myself a true “Southerner”. Most of the special locations mentioned in my books are reflections of my favorite places. Living on the Florida coast, my family spends a lot time at the beach which is where I usually can be found with a book in my hand. I started writing my Surrender Series, in the spring of 2013 and have received incredible support from the Indie community. Throughout this year, I have been privileged to meet some amazing people that I am thankful to have in my life.

Connect with Ahren:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorahrensanders/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ahrensanders
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ahrensanders/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/ahrensanders
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1eejSKy
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/ahren-sanders

Sign up for Ahren’s newsletter:
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My Wild Irish Dragon by Ashlyn Chase…Book Spotlight & Giveaway

ONE JOB OPENING

TWO SHIFTERS APPLY…

SPARKS FLY

Dragon shifter Chloe Arish is hell-bent on becoming a Boston firefighter. She uses her Irish charm and fake documents to score an interview, knowing she has to work every bit as hard as a man—harder if she wants their respect.

Born into a legendary Boston firefighting family, phoenix shifter Ryan Fierro can’t possibly let someone best him on the training course or the job. He’d never hear the end of it. When a feisty new recruit comes along who’s determined to do just that, Ryan plots to kick her out—until their sizzling chemistry turns explosive…

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2bVtChw

B&N: http://bit.ly/2bVtlva

iBooks: http://apple.co/2bVthLZ

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2bVtezG

Excerpt:

Ryan Fierro stared after the retreating figure of an incredibly surprising woman. She’d embarrassed him in front of an old family friend, and if it got back to his large, legendary firefighting family, he’d never hear the end of it. Even with that, he couldn’t help being impressed by the slender blonde.

She didn’t look back as she rounded the corner. Behind him, the chief’s door clicked shut.

Oh no. He wasn’t about to leave Chief O’Brian with that as his final impression. He pounded on the door.

As if the chief had been expecting a reaction, he opened it right away. He didn’t stand aside, however. Apparently they were to have their parting words right there in the hallway.

“You can’t… I mean… I hope you won’t consider her based on that little stunt she just pulled.”

Chief O’Brian folded his arms. “Not at all.”

Ryan let out a relieved breath—until the chief spoke again.

“I was already considering her.”

What? “But my family… If I lose out to a girl…” He scrubbed his hand over his face. He didn’t know how to finish that sentence. They’d never respect me? Never forgive me?

Sure, his mother would. She was a saint. Her face should be in psychology textbooks next to the words “unconditional love.” His father and six brothers, however, were another story. Their Sunday dinner conversations were unmatched when it came to firefighting bravado.

The chief clasped his shoulder. “Look, Ryan, I have to consider every candidate who makes it this far. I’m sure you understand that. It’s nothing personal.”

“Nothing personal? It sounds as if you’ve already decided.”

“Not at all.”

The chief took a good look at Ryan’s face, which must have been etched with worry lines. At last he lowered his voice and said, conspiratorially, “I’m going to speak to the commissioner. Perhaps we can find the funds to hire both of you.”

So it all comes down to money. What a surprise…not.

There wasn’t a damn thing Ryan could do about a budget. He doubted the chief could influence the commissioner—or the mayor—into allotting more money, even for the pricey Back Bay neighborhood. They had recently lost two firefighters in the line of duty. He’d heard one had already been replaced, but he assumed he would be replacing the other one.

Ryan gazed at his feet and nodded. “I understand. Well, thank you for the opportunity.”

“You’re not out of the race yet, boy. Something could still come from the background checks, or any number of things. I want to be fair and thorough. Don’t get discouraged if there’s a bit of a wait.”

“I won’t, sir.” The chief extended his hand and Ryan grasped it firmly. The handshake felt like a formal dismissal.

As the chief’s door closed, Ryan thought that maybe he should do a little background checking too. Just in case they missed something on the blonde.
a Rafflecopter giveaway

About the author:

ASHLYN CHASE specializes in characters that reinvent themselves, having reinvented herself numerous times. She has a degree in behavioral sciences and has worked as a psychiatric and a Red Cross nurse for several years. She lives with her real-life hero husband in New Hampshire.

Trouble Walks In by Sara Humphreys…Book Spotlight

He could be the man to rescue her

Big city K-9 cop Ronan McGuire loves women, loves his dog, loves his job—but when old flame Maddy Morgan moves into his jurisdiction, he can’t think about anyone else. Ronan knows she’s way out of his league, but he’s determined to help Maddy live life to the fullest.

In more ways than one

With tragedy in her past, Maddy has immersed herself in work and swiftly made a name for herself in the hot New York City real estate market. She’s looking for safety, not love, but Ronan McGuire is as persistent as he is sexy, and his crooked smile is hard to resist. But all other concerns are wiped away when Maddy goes missing and Ronan and his bloodhound K-9 partner are tasked with finding her and bringing her home.

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2aeocNB

B&N: http://bit.ly/28VF9vt

iBooks: http://apple.co/28VFuhL

Excerpt:

“If you don’t behave and stay off this ankle, you won’t get your ice cream. As fate would have it, you just happen to have my favorite flavor, and I might go in there and eat it all up.”

“Lots of people like mint chip,” Maddy said quickly. “Besides, you’re not the boss of me. It’s my life, Officer McGuire, and I’ll have ice cream for dinner if I want to. So there.”

“Your life, huh?” Ronan arched one eyebrow and loosened his hold on her calf, lightly trailing his fingers over the exposed flesh. “If you ask me, you haven’t been doing much living since you moved here.”

“What are you talking about?” Maddy stilled, and her cheeks turned pink.

“This apartment is more like a showroom than a home.” Ronan adjusted the bag of peas and leaned his elbows on the edge of the couch. He shrugged. “It looks like you’re never here, but I know that’s not true. If you aren’t working or out jogging with me on a Saturday morning, you’re holed up in here like a hermit. You’ve been here for over a year, but this place barely looks lived in.”

“Hey!” That feisty spirit was back, and fire burned in those blue eyes. “I am not a hermit. I am the top-performing real estate agent in the most successful real estate agency in this city despite having to deal with a staff of people who sometimes act more like children than functioning adults. Take last night, for example. I was supposed to be training one of our newest hires on how to run an open house, and the little blond dingbat never showed. No text. No phone call. Nothing. I have a full plate, McGuire.”

Ronan stilled. Blond? The girl they had found in the park this morning was blond. She had no ID on her, but she was likely in her early to midtwenties, and based on the clothing she had left on her body, she was corporate. Not a pro or party girl, but a woman who had been at work or planning to go to work.

A knot of dread curled in his gut. The detectives had said the crime scene looked eerily similar to Lucille Bowman’s. He must have been looking at Maddy funny because she had stopped talking and was staring at him with a puzzled expression.

“Hello?” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Are you listening to me? If you’re going to insult me, the least you could do is let me rant at you a little.”

“I’m sorry.” Ronan shook his head. “I was thinking about work.”

Damn it. He’d deliberately been avoiding any discussion of the woman in the park, but the topic was the undeniable elephant in the room. Silence settled between them, and Maddy folded her arms. Ronan let out a frustrated breath and looked past her to Bowser who was oblivious to it all, having fallen asleep on the floor in front of the door.

So much for guard-dog duty.

“Is that why you’re giving me a hard time about living? Because of the girl in the park?” Maddy’s voice shook. “Because don’t think for one second that I don’t know how fragile life is, okay? Believe me, I know. Life can change in an instant. One minute everything is normal and you’re arguing about what to watch on television or what to make for breakfast in the morning…and the next…”

When he turned his attention back to Maddy and saw one tear fall down her cheek, he cursed under his breath. Without thinking about it, Ronan reached out and cradled her face with one hand, then swiped the tear away. Her eyes were closed, a fan of dark lashes resting on fair skin beneath them, and those full pink lips quivered.

“Ah, Maddy,” Ronan whispered. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. His voice was gruff and strained, full of emotions he didn’t quite have a name for yet. “I’m sorry. Look, sometimes I can be an insensitive asshole. Chalk it up to growing up in a house full of boys. But I’m worried about you. It’s like you’re hiding from the whole world…but please, don’t hide from me.”

When Maddy didn’t open her eyes, Ronan settled his forehead against hers. She sucked in a shuddering breath and curled her hands around his wrists. For a second he thought she was going to push him away, but she didn’t; she held him closer instead. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, nose to nose, heart to heart. No words were spoken, and yet he felt more connected to her than to anyone else in recent memory.

He flicked his tongue over his suddenly dry lips before brushing them over hers. A breathy sigh mingled with a needy whimper escaped her luscious mouth and the sound drove him wild. But Ronan fought for restraint. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her off.

Her lips reminded him of plums, soft and sweet, and he reveled in the sensation as they melded with his. Maddy tangled her fingers in his hair, and he groaned when her tongue sought entrance, pushing into his mouth gently but eagerly. Ronan tilted her head, taking control of the kiss, and dove deep. She sat up and he moved with her, wanting to savor every bit of contact while still being mindful of her ankle.

Maddy sighed into his mouth as her hands slipped beneath his jacket and shirt. When her fingers splayed over the flesh of his lower back and dipped beneath the band of his running pants, all of the blood rushed from his head to other parts of his anatomy. His body started screaming for more—more of her touch, more of her taste—but his brain told him to slow the hell down. Emotions were running high for both of them. If they took this too far too fast, whatever this thing was between them could get snuffed out before they had a chance to explore it.

She was vulnerable, so taking it any further right now would be a shitty move. Ronan broke the kiss and pulled back, her face cradled between his hands. Her heavily lidded eyes were glazed with the unmistakable air of lust, and her lips were swollen from his kisses. Maddy tried to kiss him again, but he held her mouth a mere inch from his.

Her brow furrowed and confusion flickered across her face.

“What’s wrong?” she said through heavy breaths. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“It is,” he rasped. “But I don’t think—”

The shrill ring of the cell phone in her pocket cut him off. Even if it hadn’t, the annoyed look in Maddy’s eyes would have put an end to things. She let out a curt laugh and removed the phone from her jacket before pulling away from him.

“You surprise me, McGuire. I never thought that you, the big stud I’ve heard about all these years, wouldn’t close the deal.” She pressed her phone to her ear and leaned against the cushions. “Maddy Morgan speaking. How can I help you?”

Ronan rocked onto his heels before rising to his feet. She avoided looking at him, but he couldn’t miss the irritated expression on her face. Great. He was screwing things up at every turn.

He ran both of his hands over his face and strode to the windows while Maddy took her call. Something about an appointment tomorrow and scheduling or rescheduling. The woman even worked on Sundays. Did she ever stop and breathe, or even take a moment to enjoy in the view from her own apartment? He pulled aside the drapes with one hand and looked out. The city was beautiful from up here. The windows overlooked the West Side and gave a partial view of Central Park.

Yup. It was easy as hell for her to hide up here, and why wouldn’t she? Had anyone tried to stop her? Ronan glanced over his shoulder at her. The flush from their encounter still lingered on her cheeks, and in that moment, he decided enough was enough. She’d had the opportunity to grieve and regroup—plenty of it—but it was time to change things up.

About Sara Humphreys:

Sara Humphreys is the award-winning author of two paranormal romance series. The McGuire Brothers series is her first foray into contemporary romance, and the first in the series is an RT Book Reviews Top Pick. A public speaker and public speaker trainer, Sara lives with her husband and four sons in Bronxville, New York.

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The Widower’s Wife by Cate Holahan….Book Spotlight and Excerpt

Synopsis:

Ana Bacon, a young housewife, tumbles off a cruise ship into the dark and deadly waters, but did she take her secrets with her?

Investigator Ryan Monahan is a numbers man. So when his company sends him the Bacon case, which could net a ten million dollar payout, Monahan doubts that her death is just a tragic accident. But the husband has a substantial alibi and a number of witnesses claim to have seen Ana fall. So the official ruling seems to be substantiated.

Still, the more Monahan uncovers about Ana’s life, the more he realizes how many people would kill to keep her secrets hidden. And the closer he gets to the truth, the greater the odds grow that he, too, will take a fatal fall.

Cate Holahan looks at the dark underbelly of a marriage from the perspectives of the detective and the victim in her tense and enthralling page-turner, The Widower’s Wife.

Excerpt:

Book Links:

Amazon | Goodreads

About the author:

Catherine “Cate” Holahan is an award-winning journalist and former television producer.

Her articles have appeared in BusinessWeek, The Boston Globe, The Record and on web sites for CBS, MSN Money, NorthJersey.com, BusinessWeek.com, and CNBC. Her short fiction won first place in the 19th annual Calliope competition, a magazine published by the writer’s group of American Mensa. She lives in New Jersey with her husband, two daughters, ages 5 and 4, and dog Westley.

Dark Turns is her first novel.

Heart Strike by M.L. Buchman…Author Guest Post & Excerpt

Title: Heart Strike

Series: Delta Force, #2

Author: M.L. Buchman

Pubdate: August 2^nd 2016

ISBN: 9781492619253

Synopsis:

SERGEANT RICHIE “Q” GOLDMAN: The smartest soldier on any team

SERGEANT MELISSA “THE CAT” MOORE: Newest on the team, determined to be the best

Rescued from an icy mountaintop by a Delta operative, Melissa Moore has never met a challenge she can’t conquer. Not only she will make Delta Force, she will be the best female warrior in The Unit, and woe to anyone who says otherwise. Technical wizard Richie Goldman is Bond’s “Q” turned warrior. A genius about everything except women, he takes point on the team’s most dangerous mission yet. When the Delta Force team goes undercover in the depths of the Colombian jungle, surviving attacks from every side requires that Richie and Melissa strike right at the heart of the matter…and come out with their own hearts intact.

Author Guest Post:

The first book in my new Delta Force #1, Target Engaged was called “His best yet” by Booklist and was also named a finalist for RWA’s prestigious RITA award.

Well, my answer to that is Heart Strike, releasing August 3^rd, 2016. But it got me thinking. What are my favorite sequels? For a change-up, I focused on the action side rather than the romance, and here’s what I came up with.

The Color of Money

Paul Newman and a very young Tom Cruise in The Color of Money. The original Jackie Gleason and a very young Paul Newman The Hustler was a master work of a tight psychological drama. They upped the stakes and made it utterly captivating in the highly energetic sequel.

Jason Bourne

Jason Bourne #2 & #3 didn’t disappoint…for a single second. They sustained the tension, remained true to the character (an essential), and found ways to ratchet the tension higher in each successive one. Number 4? Not so much.

The Wrath of Khan

The Wrath of Khan notoriously took one of the most disappointing movie launches ever, Star Trek: The Motion Picture, and created a massive and incredible franchise that has continued ever since. Khan is still one of the great, over-the-top, out-of-control villains.

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade

Sometimes a great sequel comes third rather than second. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade pitted Harrison Ford against Sean Connery in gloriously foolish father-son mayhem that completely honored the first film.

The Dark Knight Rises

This choice surprises me. I like the Dark Knight reboot, but I’m not a big fan of the comic book heroes in general and frequently skip them. It took me a couple of years to catch up with this one and what I love about it isn’t the acting (which was wonderful), or the action (which was dramatic). It was the story. The writer and director completely set us up to thinking this story was going one direction…then in the last half hour it went another way entirely. AND that twist was perfectly in character, just wholly unexpected.

Now, I write romantic suspense, so the ending is fairly predictable, but I certainly hope that you enjoy the journey of my latest Delta Force novel, number 2, Heart Strike!

Excerpt:

Action sequels, even romantic suspense ones, only have a short moment of introduction before it’s time to get everyone moving…and moving fast! Delta Force #2, Heart Strike, opens with the team from Delta #1, Target Engaged, mapping coca fields in Boliva. They’re targeting them for massive defoliant drops from the CIA’s 747 tanker plane.

Trouble comes when command issues an order for the team to pull out ahead of schedule to pick up a new team member and a new assignment.

Thankfully, no one anywhere adapts faster to a changing situation than a team of Delta Force operators.

Sunrise was less than an hour off when Chad jostled his shoulder.

Richie hadn’t been asleep and barely managed to suppress an oath as Chad shook him hard enough to wake the dead—his idea of humor. Richie noticed that he was a little more cautious with Duane who often woke with his knife half-drawn. Kyle and Carla were already at the hut’s entrance.

Kyle had taken one look at the order and, in minutes, outlined a plan of how they were going to exit the farm with hopefully minimal exposure and risk. The guards they were anticipating would be off duty and the patrol timing would be wrong, but Kyle’s plan was as solid as they could get with what they knew.

No way would Richie be missing this place. Dirt floor, woven grass mat, and a thatched roof that could really use some thatch before the next rainstorm but wasn’t going to get it.

He felt sorry for the laborers. Some of the farmers were about to have an even worse season than the last one. At a big site like this, they were little better than slaves. Once the coca was gone, they’d be free, but with no assets and no working farm crop. In the coca business, locals just weren’t part of the profit equation.

Rolando and the drug lord’s other armed guards Richie liked well enough, but had less sympathy for.

The Delta team slipped out into the darkness, just a hint of the blue in the sky that was already washing out the fainter stars. They passed the farmers’ huts and were almost to the road leading out of the camp.

“Where are you going, amigos?” Rolando, his AK-47 no longer over his shoulder but now in his hands.

“Hey, buddy.” Chad started forward, but stopped and tried to look stupid when Rolando flicked off the safety.

Carla stepped forward with an easy sway of her hips. Her dirty blue work shirt unbuttoned far enough to reveal that her assets weren’t all that much less impressive than the fabled Mayra’s.

Rolando’s eyes dropped to her cleavage.

She moved a hand up to his chest. With a little flick of her wrist, she revealed the long KA-BAR military knife she was holding and rammed it up under his chin and into his brain.

Rolando twitched once.

“That’s for trying to ram it up my backside without asking.”

“He what?” Kyle snarled, but Carla didn’t waste any time answering. If there was ever a woman able to defend herself, Richie knew it was Carla Anderson.

Then Rolando collapsed to the ground and his finger must have snagged on the trigger. A single 7.62mm round gave a loud crack and zinged off into the trees.

“Shit!” the whole team said pretty much in unison.

With their clandestine departure blown, Chad swept up the AK-47 and fired a security round into Rolando’s forehead.

In seconds, they were fifty meters away and moving fast. Kyle had Rolando’s sidearm and Carla had a subcompact Glock 27 that she’d produced from somewhere—where was one of the questions Richie suspected he’d be better off not asking. Still, it was an interesting problem because they’d all been checked on arrival as being unarmed. Richie had pre-buried his GPS and satellite gear in the jungle, carefully crossing then recrossing the mined perimeter before they’d come into the camp so that he could retrieve them once the team had been accepted.

The two guards at the main gate were half-awake when they stumbled to their feet. They went back down fast and Richie and Duane now had AK-47s as well. Chad stripped them of a pair of Makarov handguns, tossing one to Richie that he caught midair.

There was an old Jeep parked by the gate, but neither of the guards had a key. It was probably back in the open, on Rolando’s body. Chad started hot-wiring it while the rest of them stood watch.

Then Richie heard it. Distant at first, but building fast. The four-engine gut-thumping roar of a loaded 747.

“Come on, Chad,” Carla pleaded. “Get us out of here.”

The Jeep’s engine roared to life and they piled in.

Duane tossed his AK-47 to Chad and dove into the driver’s seat—he was the best driver they had. He’d been working up the sprint-car circuit toward NASCAR when he’d taken his detour into the military.

Kyle and Richie dropped two more armed guards who came rushing from the huts, half-dressed and scared awake.

Duane raced the Jeep out of camp along the road, praying for no booby traps.

Then the largest tanker plane in the world descended and began its run.

The 747, converted for firefighting, had been put into deep storage in the Tucson desert when its owners went out of business. The CIA had found another use for the massive plane, which now began its dump of twenty thousand gallons—over eighty tons—of defoliant across the exact coordinates that Richie had sent to them just six hours ago.

His Delta team had been to twelve coca farms in the last six months. And the 747 tanker had visited each in turn. Twelve farms that wouldn’t produce a single leaf of coca anytime soon.

“Down,” Chad shouted.

They all ducked and hung on as Duane rammed the heavy wooden outer barrier at thirty miles an hour. It blew apart. A four-by-four shattered the windshield and Carla knocked the remains of the glass clear with the butt of a Chinese QBB machine gun she’d acquired somewhere along the way before turning it around to shoot a guard who’d been standing well clear of the gate.

Richie kept an eye out to the rear, but no one was following. If they were, they’d have a long way to go. The team had been pulled out of Bolivia. They were being tasked to a new assignment.

That was fine.

After six months training together and another six in the field, it was the last line of the message that had worried them all.

Proceed to Maracaibo, Venezuela. Acquire new team member.

About the author:

M.L. Buchman has over 35 novels and an ever-expanding flock of short stories in print. His military romantic suspense books have been named Barnes & Noble and NPR “Top 5 of the year,” Booklist “Top 10 of the Year,” and RT “Top 10 Romantic Suspense of the Year.” In addition to romantic suspense, he also writes contemporaries, thrillers, and fantasy and science fiction.

In among his career as a corporate project manager he has: rebuilt and single-handed a fifty-foot sailboat, both flown and jumped out of airplanes, designed and built two houses, and bicycled solo around the world.

He is now a full-time writer, living on the Oregon Coast with his beloved wife. He is constantly amazed at what you can do with a degree in Geophysics. You may keep up with his writing at www.mlbuchman.com.

Buy Links:

Tough Luck Hero by Maisey Yates…Book Spotlight with author Q&A and excerpt

Synopsis:

Can the golden boy of Copper Ridge, Oregon, get a second chance at happy-ever-after?

Ranching heir Colton West knew his wedding would be the talk of the town. But he didn’t expect to get left at the altar—or to escape on the next flight to Vegas with Lydia Carpenter, the woman who gets under his skin like no one else. The only thing crazier than honeymooning with Lydia is waking up married to her. So why does he find himself entertaining his new wife’s desire to stay married—and fantasizing about a real wedding night?

As Copper Ridge’s prospective mayor, Lydia can’t risk a divorce scandal so close to election time. But pretending to be blissfully in love with her new husband is more confusing than she’d thought. For a man who’s always rubbed her the wrong way, Colton suddenly seems to know exactly what to do with his hands. And his lips. Now Lydia’s wildest mistake could turn out to be her luckiest move, if they’re both willing to take the ultimate gamble…

Excerpt:

Colton West couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten blackout drunk. Maybe college? Maybe. It was hard to say if in those scenarios he had passed out because of the alcohol or because they were still awake at five in the morning after some ridiculous party.

Though at none of those ridiculous parties had he married anyone.

And, judging by the messages overflowing his phone, he had gotten married last night.

Which wouldn’t be that weird since yesterday was supposed to be his wedding day. The weird part about it was that he had married a bridesmaid. Not the bride.

And not just any bridesmaid.

Lydia Carpenter.

There were three other bridesmaids. All of whom he was more likely to get drunk and marry in Vegas than Lydia. Or at least, he would have thought so if asked prior to his hasty Vegas marriage.

Actually, had he been asked prior to his hasty Vegas marriage he would have said there was no way on earth he would ever get drunk and marry anyone spur of the moment. He was not a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy. Colton was a planner. Colton had never set one foot out of line.

After his older brother had taken off and completely abandoned the family, it had been up to Colton to establish himself as the likely heir to his father’s business. It had been up to him to be the son his father needed. And he had taken that duty very seriously.

Hell, the wedding yesterday was a prime example of that.

The wedding that had originally been scheduled, not the wedding that had ultimately taken place.

This was a nightmare. Unacceptable in every way.

So take it back.

It was the only thing to do. Unlike his brother, who had run when he didn’t want to deal with his life, and unlike his father, who had buried his mistakes, Colton would meet his head-on.

He looked up from his phone at his scowling—he winced—wife.

“Well, I can honestly say this is the last situation I ever expected to find myself in,” he said.

“No way,” she said. “You do not get to look this annoyed about the situation. This is your fault.”

“How is this my fault?”

“Granted my memory is questionable, but if I remember right, we were drinking in Ace’s. Then you were the one who suggested we go somewhere. You were the one who said you had the time off and wanted an escape. You are the one that facilitated the car to take us to the airport and said we needed to get a nonstop flight to somewhere that would be fun. And lo, we boarded a plane to Vegas.”

“At no point did you say no,” he said, wishing he could remember the events a little bit clearer. Maybe she had been hesitant. Maybe she had said no and he’d talked her into it.

But he was going to bluff his way straight through, dammit.

She folded her arms across her chest, crinkling the ridiculous lavender fabric of the bridesmaid dress she was wearing. One of Natalie’s choices. And honestly, he hadn’t cared. Not about the entire spectacle that she had put together with his mother from top to bottom. It hadn’t concerned him at all. The only thing that mattered to him was that Natalie was an appropriate choice. She’d been raised in a family like his. Highly visible in the community, with a lot of concern given to appearances. There were expectations placed on her as the daughter of the long-term mayor, and they matched the expectations placed on him. Plus, he was attracted to her. He liked her. A lot.

He’d liked her more before the wedding plans had started to get really intense. But, ultimately he had been confident in her as his choice of bride. So, the wedding had seemed like an incidental detail to him. Something that would have to take place to appease his mother, Natalie’s family and the populace of Copper Ridge, before he could get on with his life.

He hadn’t paid attention to things like bridesmaid dresses. And now he wondered if he hadn’t paid enough attention to Natalie, either. Well, obviously, since she had left him standing there at the altar without anything other than a quick apology text.

Actually, it hadn’t even really been an apology.

One line, obliterating a relationship that he had spent two years building. A relationship that was supposed to shore up the foundation of his life. And she’d just knocked it all down.

I can’t do this.

That was all she’d said. And he didn’t even get the message until later, after the ceremony that wasn’t. When he was already at Ace’s ordering the kind of hard liquor he never, ever drank in a public space. And definitely not to excess. Then Lydia had shown up.

Fast-forward a little bit—through scenes he couldn’t even remember—and here they were.

Q&A with Maisey Yates – Tough Luck Hero

Is there anything in your new release based on real life experiences or purely all imagination? Well, I’m not in the habit of going to Vegas to get married, but I think there are always emotionally elements in my stories that I borrow from real life. Even if it’s just the feeling of wanting to feel successful, like Lydia. Or wanting to do the right thing for those around you, like Colton.

The Cooper Ridge series always have beautiful covers, which one would you say is your favorite if you had to pick one? That is SO hard. But I do think my favorite cover is Tough Luck Hero. I wrote a whole scene into the book after seeing the cover, and it became one of my favorites, so that cover LITERALLY inspired some of the story. But it’s followed closely by Brokedown Cowboy and Last Chance Rebel!

What was your favorite scene to write in Tough Luck Hero? There are a couple scenes between Lydia and Sadie, the heroine from Part Time Cowboy that I loved writing, because in Part Time Cowboy they both like the same guy, and in this book they’ve become friends, and I really like that progression. But mostly…Lydia and Colton getting it on on Lydia’s campaign pamphlets. That still makes me laugh.

How much research goes into your books? I’m a big believer in Google As Needed. If I need to know something, I check into it, but I don’t do too much in depth research because then I feel like the temptation is to put too much information into the story, and it has the danger of overshadowing the romance.

What’s your favorite love story? Fiction or non-fiction. That’s an incredibly tough question. Right now I think my favorite romance is Seduce Me at Sunrise by Lisa Kleypas.

What are some of your favorites words and why? I think the word vole has great comedic properties. It’s both an adorable mammal and an unexpected word choice. And yes, I find reasons to use it in books often.

How important are names to you in your books? Do you choose the names based on liking the way it sounds or the meaning? In a long running series names are a whole thing. Some people who were background characters end up coming to the forefront, and they’re already named and not necessarily possessing a name I would have chosen if I’d created them thinking they would get their own book. Then with the sibling groups I want them to sound like they were all named by the same parents. I tend to go with sound over meaning, except in rare cases.

If you had your own talk show, who would your first three guests be? Dierks Bentley, Sam Hunt and Chase Rice. That was way too easy.

What are you working on now? What is your next project? Right now I’m wrapping up my next Copper Ridge Desire, then I’m moving on to another full length Copper Ridge novel. The hero in this one is a single dad, and I’m excited to write that since it’s something I haven’t done in this series yet.
Any fun summer plans? I’ll be at RWA in San Diego in July, and on the way there I’m stopping at Disneyland which is definitely MY happiest place on earth. I can’t wait!

About the author:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Maisey Yates lives in rural Oregon with her three children and her husband, whose chiseled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon. She feels the epic trek she takes several times a day from her office to her coffee maker is a true example of her pioneer spirit. In 2009, at the age of twenty-three Maisey sold her first book.

Since then it’s been a whirlwind of sexy alpha males and happily ever afters, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Maisey divides her writing time between dark, passionate category romances set just about everywhere on earth and light sexy contemporary romances set practically in her back yard.

She believes that she clearly has the best job in the world.

Find out more on her website

Going Down Easy by Carly Phillips…Book Spotlight

Going Down Easy (Billionaire Bad Boys Book 1) by Carly Phillips

Date of Publication: July 19, 2016

Blurb:

Billionaire Bad Boys: Rich, Powerful and sexy as hell.

Billionaire Kaden Barnes has a reputation for being difficult and always getting his way.

Enigmatic and exacting, he’s unable to keep an assistant for long. Enter his newest hire, Lexie Parker. She’s no-nonsense, efficient and all businessů She’s also hot as sin and soon starring in Kaden’s dirtiest fantasies.

As their passion for each other reaches a boiling point, neither can control theexplosive outcome when they finally give in to their desires. He may think he’s calling the shots, but for this bad boy, going down easy has never felt so good.

Available From

Amazon (Kindle)
B&N Nook
Kobo
Google Play

About Carly Phillips

After a successful fifteen year career with various New York publishing houses, and over 40 sexy contemporary romance novels published, N.Y. Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Carly Phillips is now an Indie author who writes to her own expectations and that of her readers. She continues the tradition of hot men and strong women and plans to publish many more sizzling stories. Carly lives in Purchase, NY with her family, two nearly adult daughters and two crazy dogs who star on her Facebook Fan Page and website. She’s a writer, a knitter of sorts, a wife, and a mom. In addition, she’s a Twitter and Internet junkie and is always around to interact with her readers. You can find out more about Carly at www.carlyphillips.com.

Find Carly Phillips Online

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Wicked Sexy & Wicked Baeutiful by J.T. Geissinger….Book Spotlights & Excerpts

Synopsis:

A ruthless businesswoman and the playboy who dumped her long ago find themselves embroiled in a high stakes game of love, lies and revenge.

Life coach and best-selling author Victoria Price has it all: a successful career, fabulous friends, a fantastic penthouse in Manhattan. What she doesn’t have–and doesn’t want–is a husband. Fifteen years ago her high school flame broke her heart so badly she swore she’d never love again. Now she makes millions teaching other women how to be just like her: a ruthless bitch.

Drop-dead sexy restauranteur and infamous playboy Parker Maxwell has only three rules for the women he dates: no questions about his past, no expectations for the future, and no spending the night. When he meets Victoria, however, he’s willing to break his own rules if it means sating the explosive desire she arouses in him. What he doesn’t know is that the alluring Victoria Price used to be the mousy Isabel Diaz, the girl he deflowered and dumped long ago.

Presented with a perfect opportunity for revenge, Victoria decides the game is on. But when her connection with Parker proves more than just skin deep, she has to make a choice: continue with her plan for payback, or risk her career, her reputation, and her heart by taking a second chance on love?

Excerpt:

“You have the most interesting internal conversations,” says Parker, watching my face. “Someday I’d love to be in on one of them.”

I blurt, “I was just thinking about sleeping with you.”

He stares at me. I’ve never seen such a look of hunger. Softly, he says, “Go on.”

“I…cannot believe I just said that out loud.”

Parker hasn’t blinked. His pupils are dilated. I wonder if mine are, too.

“Seriously, let’s just pretend I didn’t say that, OK? Rewind. Erase. Press play again.”

Aware that I’ve begun to babble, I snap my mouth shut. We stand in silence, looking at each other, until Parker lifts his hand and brushes his thumb over my lower lip.

“OK. We’ll pretend you didn’t say it. Please ignore the churro in my pants, because he’s not quite as good at pretending as we are.”

My gaze involuntarily drops to Parker’s crotch. And there, in all its glory, is one large and determined-looking bulge.

“I just said ignore it, Victoria, not stare at it. Show some mercy, woman.”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling. Mercy is the one thing he’ll never get from me.

Gazing up at him, I capture his thumb lightly between my teeth and nip it playfully. “I can’t help it. Remember I told you how much I love churros? Your churro looks particularly big and yummy.”

He exhales, hard. “Jesus. I can’t decide if I should laugh, kiss you, or bend you over the counter and have my way with you. That was just evil.”

I giggle. “Evil’s my specialty. You’ve been warned.”

He clasps my face in his hands and plants a firm, potent kiss on my mouth. In a husky voice he says, “If we’re going to dinner, we better get to it, because we’ve got only about thirty seconds left before Mr. Big Yummy Churro takes control of the rest of my body and I rip off your dress. With my teeth.”

That’s as blatant a proposition as I’ve ever heard. I’m thrilled he’s so affected by me.

I’m far less thrilled by how affected I am by him.

But if there’s anything life has taught me, it’s that every worthy endeavor is difficult, challenging, and usually painful. Nothing truly valuable comes easy. A battle easily won is no battle at all.

And we are at war, he and I. Blood will be shed. By the end of it, we’ll both bleed.

But he’s the only one who will be dead.

I stand on my tiptoes, brush my breasts against his chest, and whisper in his ear, “Let’s go have dinner, then. I’m hungry. But maybe we’ll save the dress-ripping for dessert.”

I turn and walk away, leaving him standing in the kitchen, chuckling to himself and muttering, “So goddamn evil.”

Oh Mr. Maxwell, I think, smiling, you really have no idea.

Synopsis:

A ruthless businesswoman and the playboy who dumped her long ago find themselves embroiled in a high stakes game of love, lies and revenge.

Wicked Beautiful Buy Links:

Kindle: http://geni.us/wbjhamz
iBooks: http://geni.us/wbeautibooks
Nook: http://geni.us/wbeautbn
Kobo: http://geni.us/wbeautkobo