A Midsummer Night’s Fling by Eliza Walker….Book Spotlight & Excerpt

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Synopsis: “A magical, joyful, delightful, sexy contemporary romance by a new star in the making!” — New York Times bestselling author Marie Force
The show must go on, but the price of admission could be her heart.Sick of her vagabond life in a Broadway touring company, Nicola is ready to settle down. She wants nothing more than to park her suitcase in California, put out feelers for local auditions, and leave her past firmly behind her.

Too bad her past comes knocking on her door her first day home. All six-foot-three, beautiful man of her past named Max. Stupid Max. The mistake Nicola just can’t seem to stop making.

Even before Nicola—fiery, quick-witted, beautiful Nicola—slams the door in his face, Max is in trouble. She will always be the one who got away. Three times. Which makes convincing her to play Titania to his Oberon a bit…awkward.

Though she has zero desire to re-re-rekindle an old flame, Nicola can’t turn down the chance Max is offering: a lead role with the West Coast’s premiere Shakespeare company. But when their first rehearsal kiss disintegrates into a passionate liplock, she’s questioning her sanity and tempted to jump ship—before Max can break her heart again.

Now it’s up to Max to convince her that the torch he’s been carrying is actually an eternal flame.

A Midsummer Night’s Fling Buy Links:
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Excerpt:
Ready? he mouthed at her.
    Yes. Her eyes softened, and the tiny smile she gave him seemed to set a hook in his heart and pull.
    A million memories surged through him, hitting like a train into the side of a mountain. This scene was so familiar, so precious. Nicola across the stage from him, ready to spar and tease and challenge. Ready to play.
    Ready to be in his life again?
    Just do the scene, idiot. He inched his shoulders back as he eased into the physicality of Oberon, but after those stolen seconds of fussing, he still wasn’t ready. The closeness of Nicola, the potential in being near her had set his body humming in a steady buzz, which had nothing to with theater.
    But what the hell? The curtain was up. Judith was watching. Game on. “‘Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania,’” he rumbled out, deepening his voice and adding the hint of an accent. So he’d sound all kingly and shit. He strode down the short stairs toward her.
    Nicola, as Titania, narrowed her eyes at him and raised one eyebrow. “‘What, jealous Oberon?’”
    He crossed the stage in three easy strides, invading her personal space. She stood on the step above him so he found himself face-to-face with her, close enough to kiss. She startled, jerking her head back, and he didn’t know if that was Nicola or Titania. She made to turn away from him.
    “‘Tarry, rash wanton.’” He slid an arm around her waist, holding her without pulling her closer. “‘Am not I thy lord?’”
    She cocked her head sideways, her mouth a smirking, sensual promise. “‘Then I must be thy lady.’”
    Yes, you are. Having her in his arms felt so right, like he’d been missing a piece of himself and not known it until he touched her again. He was near enough to see the ring of dark brown around her irises, to count the freckles scattered across her nose, to smell the spicy fruit scent of her hair. To feel her breath sigh over the skin of his face.
    He closed the few inches left to her mouth, but she ducked, twisting free of his arms before he could kiss her.
    As Oberon, he was infuriated.
    As Max, he was almost ridiculously disappointed.
    Keep your head in the work. Focus. If he blew this opportunity for her because of his overeager libido, then she would never forgive him. And he would never forgive himself for ruining yet another thing for her.
    Nicola continued the scene, taunting him, playing Titania as the most alluring of sirens. Rita had told them to ratchet up the sexual tension, of course, but Nicola was on exactly the same page as him. The whole scene they each found excuses to stand near the other, to touch and tickle like this was all foreplay. The chemistry between them crackled, and she obviously felt it too, getting as much of a high from this performance as he was. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparking in a way he remembered well.
    He could think of only one other thing the two of them had done together better than this.
    Don’t go there, Max.
    Really hard, though—heh—not to let his mind wander there as she crossed to sit on one corner of the stage and laid herself out, her lovely, petite body displayed for him to admire.
    They had reached the part of the scene where Titania refuses to give Oberon her adopted son. “‘I will not part with him.’” She stretched her legs out and pillowed her cheek on one hand to study him with simmering, heavy-lidded eyes.
    Somehow, even though Nicola sat on a bare stage in blue jeans and a white blouse, somehow she managed to appear decadent, lush, pure temptation made of sweet, supple flesh. Venus waiting in her bower for Mars to ravish her. Cleopatra inviting Antony to negotiate terms for his surrender.
    The sight of her was too much to resist. He maneuvered around behind her and sat. Resting an elbow on his knee, he reached forward and tucked a strand of soft brown hair behind her ear. He let his fingertip linger against the skin of her neck, and she shivered at the contact. He didn’t know if that was Nicola or just Nicola acting, but the sight had heat building low in his gut. “‘How long within this wood intend you stay?’” His line came out throatier than he’d intended, the low rasp of a desperate man.
    And, dammit, he was desperate. You’d think five years would have done something to dim his desire, but he found himself swamped by it, awash in images, wants.
    Like right now, he imagined everyone else gone. To lunch. To hell. Wherever. Didn’t matter. Just away. Then he’d be free to kiss Nicola until her mouth was swollen, to touch her skin and smell and taste her until she was trembling against him, then he’d ease her back flat on the stage and—
    “‘Perchance till after Theseus’ wedding-day,’” she said, cutting into his thoughts. She tossed her head, shaking out her curtain of soft brown hair, projecting indifference, but it was a fragile façade to hide how much she wanted him to stay here with her.
    As Oberon, or maybe using Oberon as an excuse, Max leaned into her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her collarbone. She shivered again, the instinctive tremble of a woman who was just as turned on as he was. That wasn’t acting, or not only acting.
    “‘Give me that boy,’” he murmured, “‘and I will go with thee.’”
    Nicola swallowed, aroused heat and brittle fury burning together in her eyes. “‘Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away!’” She shot to her feet, striding offstage without a backward glance, the muscles in her shoulders taut, her hands clenched into fists. Their small audience erupted in applause. Tierney even whistled.
    Max rolled to his feet. Nicola emerged from the stage left wings, looking shaken and pale. He tried to catch her eye, but she was staring into the audience at Judith.
    Gil distracted him, patting Max on the arm. “You two were wonderful together.”
    Tierney gave Max a rough slap on the back. “I think I just got a contact high from all the pheromones you two were pumping out.”
    Nicola flashed a wild look Tierney’s way, then wiped her face blank. Except her mouth, which tightened into a grimace.
    Max’s stomach dropped. Crap. Nicola was pissed.
    Her gaze slid his way, and her eyes were dark, actually smoldering with wrath.
    Make that really pissed.
    Which, the more he thought about it, pissed him off too. He’d played his part for her, and pretty damn well, all things considered. Nothing he’d done had been out of character for Oberon. Nothing had been over the line.
    Maybe kissing her neck was tiptoeing close to the line, but Max felt he was on the side of right there. She had a great neck. Sometimes a guy’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.
    For the scene, of course.
    Everyone froze as Judith stood, the sound of her seat flipping up oddly loud in the large theater.
    She was the unknown quantity here, and Max prayed she would act for the good of the show. Isabelle had been known to let her ego get in the way at times. Please, let Judith be different.
Judith started down the aisle, glancing at a small notebook as she scribbled things. Tierney rolled her eyes. Gil shrank into himself, trying for invisibility. Rita twisted the silver bracelets on her arm.
    Nicola folded her arms and waited, cool and collected as a queen.
That’s my girl.
    Judith stopped at the foot of the stage and, without even glancing at Nicola, said, “I’m sorry, but I need to cut this short. Ms. Charles, can you come in tomorrow to read for me again?”
    Max gaped. What is wrong with this lady? Sure, artistic directors were allowed to be prickly divas. They ran the show, after all. All the shows. Nicola had nailed the audition, the director wanted her, so making Nicola audition again just felt like some weird power play.
    Nicola worked her jaw, clearly offended but fighting to stay professional. “Of course. What time?”
    “No. Nonono no nono no.” Rita sliced her arm through the air. “No, Judith. That is not acceptable. We need to settle this today.”
    “We need a Titania,” Max put in, not glancing at Nicola as he said it. “Ms. O’Fallon, do you honestly think you’ll find someone better for our production than Nic—than Ms. Charles?”
    Judith’s nostrils flared, her cool gray eyes narrowing to slits. Finally, she flung her hands up. “All right. You, Nicola, come in tomorrow to sign your equity contract.” With a dramatic flair not quite on par with Isabelle’s, Judith whirled around and pretty much stormed out of the theater.
    Rita let out a shrill victory cry and threw herself on Nicola for a hug. Max grinned, big and goofy. He had a Titania again. He had Nicola again.
    Her gaze met his over Rita’s back, and Nicola stilled, her face blanking out.
    What the—
    Nicola had the part. She should be thrilled. So why did she look like she had to barf again?
    She eased away from Rita and murmured something. Rita pointed to the backstage area. Giving the group at large a reassuring wave, Nicola hurried off stage left toward the dressing rooms.
    “Maxim, I need you to—”
    He waved Rita to silence. “Give me a second?” Gut churning with unease, Max jogged backstage, f
ollowing—okay, maybe chasing—Nicola.
    He found her in the green room, leaning in the doorway, half-in, half-out, with a faraway expression in her eyes. In his younger days, Max had learned to recognize that look and put as much distance between himself and The Look as possible. Avoidance had always been his favorite way to solve conflicts. But not now. Five years hadn’t only made him older.
    When she saw him, she held a hand out to stop him walking closer. “I’m fine.”
    “Bullshit.”
    She flashed him an irritated glance but didn’t say anything.
    “Nic, what’s wrong?”
    She looked up, her eyes soft, her mouth half-parted. Awareness of her body flamed over him. Memories of the taste of her skin and the softness at the base of her throat had his lower self springing to attention.
    Real professional there, Max. He shifted, uncomfortably aware of what a schmuck he was. Still, he wasn’t going to walk away. “Nicola. Tell me.”
    She sucked in a deep breath and, when her gaze flicked to his mouth, he thought he might explode. “This, Fiesengerke.” She cupped the back of his head, yanking his face down to her. “This is what’s wrong.”
    Then she kissed him.
    As her mouth touched his, he thought, Thisis a bad idea.
    But still Max grinned against her lips. After all, he’d sort of been hoping this was the problem all along.
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Author Bio:
Eliza Walker, a native of Los Angeles, is the author of the Much Ado About Love Series that begins with A Midsummer Night’s Fling. Her experiences as an actress helped inspire the series about actors finding love amidst the bedlam backstage at a world-class repertory theater. Once upon a time, Eliza met her own wonderful husband when they did a play together. By day Eliza helps corral engineers for NASA (without doing any of the tech stuff herself, of course). By night she loves to write her sarcastic heroes and heroines bantering their way to true love. Eliza is a total geek, a movie buff and a mediocre swing dancer. Eliza and her husband live in sunny Southern California with two of the neediest housecats on the planet.
Eliza’s Social Links:
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Unbreak My Heart by Lorelei James…Release Day Event and Exclusive Excerpt

 

Unbreak My Heart by Lorelei James is available TODAY! 

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Synopsis:

The right love is worth the wait.

Sierra
Seven years have passed since I fell for Boone West. The brooding bad boy. We were friends, even when I secretly wanted more, but I settled for what he offered. After he left Wyoming–and me–I grew up. Moved on. Or so I believed until he blew back into my life with the scorching force of an Arizona desert wind.

I’m not that innocent sixteen-year-old girl anymore–I’m a businesswoman who swore never to settle again. But this older, wiser, hotter version of Boone unsettles me. How am I supposed to resist his megawatt smile and his built-army-strong body? Especially when he’s inserting himself into every aspect of my life? Now he’s determined to prove he can offer me everything that he couldn’t before–and he’s the only man that can fix the heart that he broke.

Boone
Joining the army? Best decision I ever made. Even though it meant I had to leave her behind. Sierra McKay. The wide-eyed beauty, who saw more in me than I saw in myself. I didn’t dare offer her anything more than friendship, because one kiss, one touch and I wouldn’t have had the guts to go.

I’ve worked hard to become the man I am. I have a career. A purpose. After a chance encounter with the one woman I never forgot–I’m not leaving anything else to chance. Now that I’ve chased her across three states, I’m ready to demonstrate that the passion we couldn’t act on before burns hotter than ever between us. And I’ll use every weapon in my arsenal to show Sierra McKay that she’s always been mine.

NOTE: This is the first book in a spinoff New Adult series! No need to read the books in the Rough Riders series to enjoy it!

Excerpt:

I blamed everything on the fever.

Everything.

My nausea.

My surliness.

My weepiness.

My utter lack of reaction when he strolled into the exam room.

He gaped at me like I was an apparition.

I continued to stare at him blankly, as if it was no big deal he was here, right in front of me, wearing scrubs and a cloak of authority.

But the truth was I hadn’t seen him for seven years.

Seven. Years.

I should have been in shock— maybe I was in too much shock. This definitely fell under the heading of trauma. Because on the day he waltzed back into my life? I looked worse than dog diarrhea.

I mentally kicked myself for not going to the ER. Or perhaps just letting myself die. Anything would have been better than this. Screw you, universe. Fuck you, fate. Karma, you bitch, you owe me.

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Available NOW

Book links:

Amazon  |  Google Play  |   Kobo  |  Goodreads

(B&N and iBooks links coming soon!)

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About the author:

Lorelei James is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of romances in the Rough Riders series, the Blacktop Cowboys® series, the Mastered series, the Need You series and the Legacy series.

Lorelei also writes dark, gritty mysteries under the name Lori Armstrong. Her books in the Julie Collins and Mercy Gunderson series have won Shamus Awards and the Willa Cather Literary Award. Lorelei lives in western South Dakota.

Website  |  Facebook   |  Twitter 

 


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Last Goodbye by Laurel Ostiguy…Book Spotlight & Excerpt

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Synopsis:

In his final moments before succumbing to brain cancer, Jonathan Higgins confides in his best friend about a beautiful girl who should have been his one true love.

Hundreds of miles away, on the same spring evening, Abigail Price suddenly suffers from a seizure that leaves her with an overwhelming sense of love and loss that she cannot explain.

Starting college the following fall, Abigail meets two men who will forever change her life. Both love and care for her, but one harbors a secret that will split her world into two. Relationships will be tested while Abigail tries to understand what is and what might have been.

It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but can you love and lose someone you’ve never met?

Excerpt:

Prologue
March 1, 1995
Abigail
“I thought maybe we could just spend a few minutes together,” James said, almost sounding desperate.
I wrinkled my face and as I did, he turned toward me and said softly, “Come on, Abigail. I’m not that bad.”
I quickly snapped out of whatever thought I had apparently been having.
“James, I didn’t…” I trailed off, knowing I didn’t really need to finish my sentence.
He continued to drive down the long road.
He was handsome. Everyone in school thought so, too. He had gray eyes and shaggy blond hair. He always wore a zip-up jacket and often wore a baseball hat that made his hair stick out on the sides and the back. He was planning to go away to college in the fall, like most of our graduating class. He could carry on intense and well-thought-out conversations with me. I liked that about him.
Unbeknownst to me, he had been trying to ask me out since sophomore year but never did until the prom of our junior year. When he’d finally gotten the courage to ask me, it’d made a lot of the girls in our class jealous, something I could never understand. They all thought I was too brainy for James, whatever that meant. I wasn’t your typical bleached-hair and frosted-pink-lipped girl liked by the majority of the boys our age. According to my best friend Rebecca, it bothered some of the more popular girls because I didn’t seem to have to try, and I still got the guy. I, on the other hand, felt completely differently about it, but no one had actually asked me.
James pulled the car by the back fields at Glens Falls High School. My heart began to pound. He sat up straighter in his seat, which made him appear sure of himself. I was not used to him being so confident. He parked the car and opened his door. Before he could come around, I pushed hard against the car door with my shoulder. It popped open, and I got out.
As he walked toward the football field, I followed him in silence. He slid through the gate and then held it open for me. I eased my body through the chain-link fence, just as he had.
“Feeling nostalgic?” I asked him, half-laughing. “You’re more of a soccer guy, aren’t you?”
“That’s funny, Abigail, considering you’re the one going to Onondaga State, the ultimate football school,” he said, putting his arm around me.
It was an unusually cool evening in March, and this forced me to pull my hands into my sleeves.
“You know me so well avid sports fan that I am, it’s not like I’m going for their top-ranked biology program,” I said with my usual sarcasm.
He smiled down at me. He led me over to the bleachers. I watched him climb up a few tiers and sit down. I followed his lead and took a seat next to him on the cold metal bench.
“What are we doing here? Looking at the full moon?” I asked. It was sort of an inside joke.
He slid closer to me. “It’s nice but no. Like I said, I just wanted to spend some time alone with you,” he said, locking eyes with me.
He always said that my navy eyes showed my intellect and innocent view of the world. I could tell he was searching my face—for what though, I was not sure. I smiled slightly as my heart began to pound. He turned away, gazing out toward the field lit by the spectacular moonlight above. He seemed to be deep in thought. I, too, looked out at the beautiful moon that hovered above us. I could hear his breath begin to deepen. I shuddered with the cold.
“Can I ask you something?” he probed with a husky voice.
Finally, I thought. Let’s get to why we are out here.
“Sure,” I said cautiously.
He was acting so strangely.
“Why…” he asked, hesitating. “Why don’t you like me the way I like you?”
I nearly choked, but I tried to control myself by clearing my throat. I couldn’t believe he’d asked me that, that he’d actually noticed enough to ask me that. There was silence as I wondered how to respond to his question while sitting in the middle of the bleachers on a cold night in March.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“You know exactly why I’m asking you that,” he said, sounding a bit irritated.
I started to get a weird feeling. Something in my gut told me to touch him, so I did. I moved my hand onto his leg. He stiffened a bit, knowing how little we had touched. I knew he had not expected it but that he wanted it badly.
I thought about all the girls at school who were always after him—the cheerleaders, the jocks, even the artsy girl who he said used to stare at him during class—but our friends kept telling me that all he ever talked about was me. When he’d finally asked me to the prom, I guessed I’d answered so halfheartedly that it completely threw him off his game. He’d become timid and shy around me, nothing like he usually was. We had been dating for almost a year, and as far as I knew, he’d remained faithful to me in spite of all the distractions from the girls in our class.
“Aren’t you going to answer my question?”
“Yes. I mean, I do like you. Of course I do. I thought you knew that. I am just not sure why you would ask me that. What have I done?” I asked, putting it back on him.
I felt confused, a bit sad even, because he’d noticed and waited until now to say something. Maybe I did give off an unwelcoming vibe, but I wasn’t trying to. Honestly, I just wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to give myself away just yet.
“Are you playing hard to get then?” he asked matter-of-factly.
No, not hard to get. I’m only seventeen, I thought. It never crossed my mind to play any sort of game.
I started to remove my hand from his leg, but he grabbed it before I could.
“Don’t pull away from me,” he said softly.
He moved his leg to one side of the bench, so he was now directly facing me. I swallowed hard.
“I’m not,” I barely whispered.
I felt so overcome all of a sudden. It was like I was getting weaker, and he was getting stronger.
“Look at me then,” he said, inching closer to me. “You know how I feel about you. Don’t you feel the same?”
My heart began to pound. I observed his handsome face and was unsure of what I was doing and feeling.
“I just told you,” I said quietly.
He had this unbelievably sly and somewhat sneaky smile on his face. It was the kind of expression a person might have when gaining a slight victory over his opponent.
“Then, come here,” he said to me with a voice I had not heard before. It was deep, confident, and alluring.
He put one hand on my back and the other around my waist, pulling me toward him. My heart was beating fast now.
He said it again, “Come here.”
He took his hand off my back and drew my face up toward him. He softly kissed me—at first. He held me tighter around the waist. I resisted, but he pressed his lips to mine with a passion I had never felt from him before. He moved his other hand up the side of my body until he was gently caressing my breast. He kept going up until he reached the back of my neck. He tugged on my long sun-kissed hair. My instinct was to move my head back, and as I did, he began kissing my neck. I could feel his intensity, and I, too, became overcome with the same feelings.
I abruptly stood up in front of him. The glimmer in his eyes said, I told you so.
I didn’t care. I wanted him the way he wanted me. I pushed him back on the bleachers and leaned over him. He grabbed my face again and drew it toward his. My body was now on top of his as we kissed again. I could tell he was excited as he moaned and kissed me harder.
“You want me,” he said to me.
I started to move away from him, but he grabbed me again.
“James, can we go somewhere warmer?” I said as my cold body shivered from more than excitement.
I moved back as he stood up. He gave me the sexiest smile I had ever seen from him. I did like James, and in that moment, I was asking myself why I had so often forced my feelings for James out of my mind.
“Of course.” He sighed as he motioned toward the end of the bleachers.
I glanced at my watch. It was seven forty-five. Rebecca and the rest of our friends would be wondering where we were, but for once, I didn’t care about anyone else.
I walked first and jumped off. He followed suit. Much to my delight, he put his hand on my shoulder and turned me toward him. He started to lean down, and with one swift motion, he picked me up. I laughed, and he planted a kiss on my cheek. He carried me to the gate and put me down. He went through first and then held open the gate until I slid through.
We walked back towards his navy 1990 Toyota Corolla. He walked over to my side of the car because that door always got stuck in the cold, so it required a bit of extra muscle to get it open. I stood behind him, as I always did, while he pulled on the handle.
“Let’s see how long it takes you to open the door. It’s seven forty-eight. Go!” I laughed.
With his back to me, I heard him chuckle as he started to pull on the handle.
Suddenly, a wave of anxiety washed over me. I blinked feverishly, yet all I saw were white spots in the pitch-black sky. What was happening? I couldn’t speak. My heart rate increased rapidly. Then, almost as soon as it had, it seemed to slow to a crawl. I could feel each beat, one at a time, pounding deep within my chest.
Thump, thump, thump.
James still had his back to me as he yanked on the door handle. My knees weakened, and I tried to speak as my body became weightless. I stumbled backward and hit the earth.
I heard James finally pop the door open. I stretched out my arm toward him, desperate for help. No sooner did I reach out than my arm started to shake violently, my body writhing on the ground.
Then, he screamed, “Abigail!”
***
March 1, 1995
Jonathan
I am dying. This much I am sure of. No matter how many times the doctors’ flutter around my bed, attempting to stick another needle in my vein, I know nothing more can be done. I can’t blame them for trying. It’s their job. They care. I genuinely believe they care about me. But the facts are the facts.
If you asked me if I thought life was worth living, I would say, yes, absolutely, without a doubt. I know what is happening to me, and it still doesn’t change my mind. It’s going to happen to all of us at some point. I guess, in some ways, I’m lucky. I get to choose when, and I’m choosing to be here with you, Tank, my best friend, now. I know my family couldn’t be here today, but I knew you would be.
I close my eyes, and I can feel you squeeze my hand. You have the strength of a man even though I know you’re really too young to deal with this. In fact, I know a lot of people, me included, think I’m too young. Abby’s too young to be a part of this, too, but somehow, we have been chosen. I’m not exactly sure why, but I would do it all over again, even knowing what I know now because I met you, my family, and ultimately, Abby. I believe in Abby and what we had, as strange as that might sound.
I would have told the world about us, but instead I told you, my best friend, and now, you’ll have to find her. I want to believe that wherever I’m going next, she’ll be there…eventually. I now believe there are angels on earth. We pass by them every day. They are the ones who make our heads turn, the ones who make us believe there is something better out there, the people who make us feel that, despite it all, this life is worth living. I’d do it all again just to see her, just to be myself and your best friend.
I can feel my body relax. It feels like it is sinking into the bed. I feel comfortable. My mind is still active. I can see her sitting on the bleachers in the moonlight. I can see how beautiful she is under the glow. I know this moment will affect her. I know she will feel this, and I can only hope, someday, she will find the peace I am feeling now.
The room is quiet. There are no more sounds from machines. This is how I want it. My eyes remain closed. I am smiling. I can see a gray illumination, and in the middle, I see the light of her beautiful navy eyes. I feel so peaceful.
I know you’re still next to me, Tank. I know this. I’m not able to feel sad because you are sad. My body won’t let me. It wants me to feel okay about all this. You want me to feel okay about this. I have no regrets, and I’m so very glad you can be here with me. I know you will take the box and keep it safe, and I know you’ll be able to move on. This will scar you, it will scar her, but I believe we will all be better in the end. I believe this because I know that you will find her, just as I once found her.
I can feel my mind and body begin to slow. I know now that I’m on my way to her.
Please know, she will be happy, and one day, you, too, will be happy again.
That is my promise to you, my friend.
I squeeze your hand back, and I take one more breath.
***
March 6, 1995
Tank
Tank—that was what my friends and family had called me since I first took to the football field when I was eight years old. I’d grown out of the name Thomas.
My mom had told me that when she was pregnant, she swore, she was having twins with the way her belly had stretched and expanded. Not surprisingly, when I was born, I’d weighed a whopping eleven pounds and four ounces. The doctor had said it was a hospital record.
Today, I stood about six feet four inches and weighed around two hundred eighty-five pounds. At the age of eighteen, I wished that were the only thing that made me stand out, but I had shocking blond hair, almost white, that touched my shoulders. I also had wide-set silver eyes, and I’d been told they were very striking. People would say they could see me coming from a mile away.
I was always recognized for my size and appearance, but there was really so much more to me. I was actually a pretty soft guy off the field, and I took my family and friends super seriously because they’d supported me as I spent every waking moment working to earn a Division I college football scholarship.
And I did.
I was supposed to be leaving in the late summer on a full ride to my top-choice school, Onondaga State University. Now, I wasn’t sure I was going to go. I changed my mind daily, depending on how I was feeling. I had a good reason to feel the way I did—at least, that was what I kept telling myself every time I wanted to cry.
But again, my size defined me. Everyone just assumed I was some kind of cold, heartless rock. But I was not. I was just a confused, sad, and broken down eighteen-year-old kid. And all I really wanted to do right now was weep. Yes, I wanted to weep like a child because of how much I was badly missing my best friend.
In fact, Jonathan Higgins was the greatest friend I could have ever asked for. I guessed that was why I was the only one Mrs. Higgins could have asked to pick up the hundred or so balloons from the store after his funeral. She’d asked me as a favor, yet it pained me to pick them up. Who in their right mind would want to pick up balloons for their deceased best friend’s memorial? Not me, but I was doing it anyway. After all, there was no way for me to know when I’d become his best friend twelve years ago that I’d be here today.
Everyone from the football team, the school, and pretty much anyone in Fairmont, New York, who had ever come into contact with Jonathan, was waiting for me to arrive. My truck moved sluggishly down the paved road, passing the high school and heading toward the football field, with balloons billowing out of the back. I had this overwhelming sense of gloom wash over me as I saw the crowd gathered up ahead. For the first time in a week, it really dawned on me that I would never see Jonathan again.
I parked in one of the last spots in the lot and killed the engine. I took a deep breath before opening the door. I put on my black suit coat and buttoned it tight. It was sunny today but cold.
Fitting really, I thought to myself as I grabbed the hundred or so strings attached to the balloons.
I hesitated, and then I turned and walked through the parking lot and toward the gate to the football field where Jonathan and I had entered side by side a thousand times before. This was the first time I had been on the field since he passed. The football field was our home. This was where we’d excelled, and this was where we had belonged. There was a lump in my throat as I walked across the field to the crowd gathered on the fifty-yard line.
The gathered mourners parted as I approached. I walked over to Jonathan’s parents and stood next to them. Mrs. Higgins reached up her hand and patted me on the arm.
Principal St. Gibbons had asked the Higgin’s if he and our head coach could say a few words in an attempt to comfort us. Unfortunately, it was quite obvious to those who had been close to Jonathan that words would not be able to fill the void we were left with after he passed. He had been the guy who made you laugh, he had been the one who helped others, he had been the reason I loved football. I owed much of my success on and off the field to him. He’d kept me focused and grounded. He was, in a word, awesome.
After the moment of silence, all eyes turned toward me. I opened my fist and released the blue and white balloons into the air. Our school colors that had once been a symbol of pride were now a symbol of sadness for me. Mrs. Higgins gazed up at the sky only briefly before returning her eyes to the torn grass below her feet. I immediately put my arm around her shoulders as she quietly cried.
I squinted at the sun but kept my eyes on one balloon in particular, wishing that it would somehow be a beacon for Jonathan so that he’d know I was desperately missing him. It went up, up, up until it finally blended into the cobalt sky. It was gone, just like him, forever.
Mr. Higgins stood just outside the circle, clutching Jonathan’s brother’s hand. I could almost read Mr. Higgins’s mind as he glanced at Will.
Jonathan and Will looked so much alike. Will was just a slightly younger version of his brother, right down to the dynamic smile. As he gazed up at his dad, Will tried to muster up a smile, but his eyes filled with tears. He dropped his father’s hand to wipe the tears away with the sleeve of his dress coat.
I hated being a witness to this.
The crowd gradually dispersed, walking toward their cars. Now next to Mrs. Higgins, Mr. Higgins took her hand and ambled slowly toward their SUV, glancing back only once toward Will and me. In their car now, I notice them watching us stand in complete silence. I can tell Will is too afraid to make eye contact with me.
I attempt to bring closer to the day by saying, “Hey, I’ll see you around, okay?”
Will understood that I meant it. After all, we were practically family.
I headed for my truck.
Will spoke up, “You weren’t just Jonathan’s best friend, you know? You were like a brother…to us both.”
I stopped and turned slightly. “I know.” I paused but stayed still, searching for the right thing to say. “I miss him, and I’m…I’m so sorry, Will. But you will always have me, no matter what.”
I hurried to my truck, afraid I might cry. I waved and smiled slightly to the Higgins’s as I fumbled in my pocket for my keys. I had no idea where to go, but I just had to get away. I climbed in and turned the key in the ignition. My trusty dark green Ford F-150 roared to life. As I adjusted the volume on the stereo and accelerated to the main entrance to the high school, I thought of my friend and the last time we had been together.
His words had been playing repeatedly in my mind, causing me excruciatingly painful sleepless nights. I just couldn’t stop thinking of the days leading up to today. There was more to digest than I’d let on to anyone, and I was suffering for it. After all, I was the last one to see Jonathan alive, and no one knew what I knew.
***
March 25, 1995
Nathan
I came running in through the door. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. My eyes widened like saucers when I saw my father sitting at the breakfast bar, nearly in tears.
“Dad, what is it?” I choked out.
“You’re in, son. You made it. God, Mom would be so proud of you!” My dad jumped up and squeezed me tight.
They were so few words, but I knew exactly what he was referring to.
I’d made it. I’d been given a full scholarship to play football at my top-choice school, Onondaga State University.
My dad released the embrace, looked me in the eyes, and smiled. My knees got weak, so I sat down on the stool in the kitchen. I tried to smile back, but I was too scared to let this be real.
It can’t be real, right? I thought.
Then, it all began to connect. I unintentionally let out a deep breath. I thought back on this past year of grueling training and recruiting visits, of academic and physical tests, of my father crunching numbers and talking about loans and scholarships, and of the nights my father had spent leaning over a calculator while on the phone with his brother, Dave, discussing assets and credits. With my dad being a single parent, I imagined it was hard enough, but losing my mom, his wife, so suddenly had made it even harder. It might have given me all the motivation I’d ever needed to make sure my dad wouldn’t have to pay a cent for college.
I took a moment to let it all sink in. A moment was all I needed to realize that if I continued to work as hard as I had my whole life, I would, come August, be the starting quarterback for the Onondaga State University Hawks. I had reached my goal. I would call it a dream, but a dream was something you imagined or wished for. A goal was something you set for yourself and worked hard to accomplish. This had been my goal since the first day I touched a football.
“I’m so proud of you, Nathan. You’ve earned this. Now, keep it up,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
“I will, Dad. I promise,” I said. It was as though my words were coming at the same pace as my mind was absorbing the information.
“Coach said he would send over some paperwork. He’s going to FedEx it to my office. I’ll get it in the morning. He wants to talk to us tomorrow night before you sign and make sure you don’t have any more questions about your scholarship, okay?”
“Okay.”
Just then, the phone rang. My dad reached over and grabbed the receiver.
“Where’s the fire?” I heard Uncle Dave bark.
My dad quickly told my uncle the news about Onondaga State. I could hear the elation and pure joy in my father’s voice. It was something I hadn’t heard often. I knew I had made my father proud.
I stood up, forced a smile, and went down the hall to my bedroom. I closed the door, and I walked across my room. I grabbed the small Nerf football off my nightstand and collapsed on my bed. I needed some time alone to absorb this.
With news such as this, one might think that I would be running down the street, knocking on my neighbors’ doors, telling all the friends I’d known my whole life that I, Nathan Ryan, the skinny kid from Halifax, Pennsylvania, who never wanted to come in from playing football, had done it. All my hard work had finally paid off.
Quickly, I faced this reality that was unfolding before me because it was happening. It was really happening.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them. I stared at the ceiling. I had no idea how long I’d been lying there, motionless, until I finally heard my father’s footsteps coming down the hall.
My father knocked on the door. “Nathan, you okay?”
“Yeah, Dad.” My voiced cracked. Then, I smiled slightly to myself. “I’m better than okay.”

 

Book Links:

Amazon  |  B&N  |  Goodreads

About the Author:

Laurel Ostiguy Novel (1)Laurel (Kupillas) Ostiguy was born in Queensbury, New York—a town sandwiched between Lake George and Saratoga Springs—where she still visits with friends and family. She currently lives outside of Boston, Massachusetts. She commutes into Boston for a job she loves at a financial firm.

She attended Plymouth State University and graduated in 1997. She is now married to her college sweetheart, Jeff, and they have two sons. She also received her master’s degree from Northeastern University in 2003. When she is not working in Boston, she loves to spend time with her family and friends as well as skiing, skating, swimming, writing, or just enjoying the beautiful New England seasons.

What’s Next From The Author?

A wealthy girl from the Hamptons, Bree has known nothing but good fortune.

But a horrific encounter on her first night in college has left her broken, confused, and scared.

Gradually, as Bree begins to heal, she finds solace in the arms of a forbidden man on campus. Knowing their infatuation with one another could cost him his job, Bree has a decision to make. Walk away before anyone gets hurt or risk it all?

What will Bree decide?

 

 

 

 

Release Day Spotlight…Wrong Way by Taylor Law

wrong way

Wrong Way by Taylor Law

Release Tuesday, June 7, 2016

Amazon US:  http://bit.ly/WrongWayUS

Amazon UK:  http://bit.ly/WrongWayUK

Amazon AU:  http://bit.ly/WrongWayAU

ARe: http://bit.ly/WrongWayARe

B&N:  http://bit.ly/WrongWayBN

Kobo: http://bit.ly/WrongWayKobo

IBooks: http://bit.ly/WrongWayIBooks

Gay Paranormal Romantic Suspense

 

Blurb

Leading The Shenandoah pack consumes most of Thomas Collowell’s time. The Alpha’s job is never done. That had never been more true than when a killer targeting shifters strikes too close to home. He doesn’t have time to deal with a mate, especially a human.

There is nothing Camdon Williams wouldn’t do for his best friend, which is why he was the best man in Jessie’s joining ceremony. While in Skyline Village, he gets more than he bargained for, including a strange attraction to the Sheriff.

When Camdon and Thomas are forced to work together to stop the killer, Camdon’s eyes are opened to a world he wouldn’t have believed existed. They both learn that there is no such thing as perfect timing. Sometimes, it’s about taking a chance… before it’s too late.

 

Author info:

Taylor Law is a northern born, southern girl, with a free spirit. Taylor has lived in the southern United States most of her life, along with her huge Italian family. She started writing at a very young age; her first poem at six, her first song at seven, and stories followed directly after. She hasn’t stopped since.

A romantic clear to her soul, Taylor continues to believe the elusive ‘Happily Ever After.’ She lives in Florida where it rains regularly – yes, the sunshine state is a myth. She worked as a contract and civil litigation paralegal for fifteen years before publishing her stories. On any given day, you can usually catch her with a book in her hand or creating something.

Lawbreaker News: https://app.mailerlite.com/webforms/l…
Facebook: www.facebook.com/taylorlawbooks
Instagram: www.instagram.com/taylorlawbooks

 

 

Love Sick: A Memoir by Cory Martin

Love Sick by Cory Martin

LOVE SICK
A Memoir

“Unflinchingly honest and vulnerable, Martin’s book says all the things people need to hear and few are brave enough to voice. Full of humor, absurd situations, and wry observations, her story inspires us to never stop looking for love.” – Stephanie Savage, co-creator Gossip Girl

“This is an honest book that does not hesitate in pulling its punches. Packed with emotion, it will leave you turning the pages in anticipation…” – New York Journal of Books

“Many women spend their thirties trying to get settled in their careers, friendships, and love lives, Cory Martin spent hers trying to do all that while dealing with an insane medical curveball. An incredible story told with honesty, humor, and hope.” – Leila Gerstein, creator Hart of Dixie, writer Gossip Girl, The O.C.

“Candid, wise, funny, heartbreaking and ultimately inspirational: in an unpredictable world, Cory Martin’s Love Sick reminds us of what really matters.” – Matt Ward, writer Madam Secretary, Suburgatory, My Name Is Earl

“I expected Cory Martin’s memoir about a girl’s diagnosis and struggle with multiple sclerosis to be heart-breaking, but I didn’t expect it to also be a hilarious, hip, and sexy trip through her adventures in dating and her un-jaded quest for true love. You’ll cry but more importantly you’ll laugh.” – Marianne Wibberley, writer Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle, National Treasure

From a former writer on the once popular television show, The O.C., comes LOVE SICK (Write Out Publishing, February 9, 2016, $24.95, hardcover) a smart and witty account of dating while navigating a life of uncertain health. This powerful memoir speaks to a new generation of women, sparking the conversation: when you’re dealing with illness and you’re still single, what do you do? Face it alone, or look for love?
At 28, Cory Martin thought she had it all, a budding career as a writer in Hollywood, an apartment of her own, and a healthy obsession with yoga. But when she found herself on the floor of her apartment wailing into the phone, ‘but I don’t want to be sick,’ her entire world came crashing down.
A doctor had just revealed that she had multiple sclerosis, a potentially debilitating disease, her good friend was getting married that weekend and the only people she wanted to call were her parents. In a time when she was supposed to be coming into her own as an adult, all she could think was who’s going to want to marry me now?
As she embarked on a medical quest, subjecting herself to countless MRIs and a painful spinal tap that landed her in the ER, Cory simultaneously threw herself head first into dating. But no matter how many doctors she saw or men she met there would never be a cure for MS. And if you think it’s hard to get the guy you’re dating to give you a ride to the airport, try getting him to drive you to the hospital. Add to that an unfortunate incident with a blue thong and a cute young doctor, and Cory quickly realized that just as there was no concrete method to diagnose and treat the disease, there was no surefire way to find “the one.”
Written from a place of strength and vulnerability, LOVE SICK is an unforgettable tale of heartache, perseverance and love. True to life and relatable, it is a story of facing one’s fears head on with humor and grace. There is no magical ending and no grand epiphany. Instead it is Cory Martin’s desire to be loved and feel normal that makes her journey so poignant.
Write Out Publishing is an independent press based in Los Angeles, publishing books and short stories. Its mission is to “write out” the world’s problems one story at a time. They are committed to donating ten percent of the profits from each work sold to a charity of the author’s choice. The National Multiple Sclerosis Society is the beneficiary of the ten percent from LOVE SICK.

____________________________
Cory Martin has written for television and authored a variety of books. She is the writer behind the documentary Titans of Yoga and her work has appeared online with XOJane, The Mighty and Elephant Journal. She lives in Venice, CA.

LOVE SICK: A Memoir
Publication date: February 9, 2016
$24.95, hardcover
268 pages
www.writeoutpublishing.com

review

From time to time I find myself drawn to memoirs or autobiographies.  Cory Martin’s publisher contacted me in regards to receiving an arc in exchange for an honest review.  I saw that it was a memoir but to be honest, what made me jump on board to read it was that Cory written for the hit television show, “The O.C.” which just happens to be one my all-time favorite shows.  So I jumped at the chance to read her memoir.

Anyway, as I started reading this book, I was just completely amazed about how honest, real and raw she is.  She doesn’t hide anything – she explains exactly what she was thinking, how she felt, when she was diagnosed with MS (multiple sclerosis).  There were times I just wanted to hug her and take away her frustrations, anger and confusion.

Love sick isn’t about the ins and outs, dos and don’ts of MS.  It’s about Cory’s daily, weekly, annual journey of what it’s like to find out you have MS and then what happens afterwards.  But she also makes you laugh with her quirkiness and openness about her thoughts and feelings.  Cory brings up many important questions that I am sure anyone diagnosed with an incurable disease will have.  She doesn’t hold back on anything.

I enjoyed reading about Cory’s journey and all the ups and downs she had.  Even though Cory may not have seen it when she was going through everything, she was and is an extremely strong woman.  She never gave up on learning more about MS.  Yes, doing google searches probably causes us all to get more information than we probably want or need, but when you are getting undecided answers from doctors – what are you to do??  And Cory is flat-out honest in her path to figure out what exactly is causing her to have all these unusual aches and pains.

I applaud Cory for writing this memoir.  I urge anyone to read this – it’s very thought-provoking and moving.  And the best part – 10% of the profits from this book will be donated to the National MS Society.

Anyone who purchases the book from the link below, will receive 20% off an ebook and/or hardback copy.  Just enter the code READLOVEBLOG20

LOVE SICK

C signature

Questions for Cory Martin, author of LOVE SICK.

At what point did you decide you wanted to be a writer?

Before I became a writer in any sense, I was an avid reader. I remember the first book I actually learned how to read – Dr. Seuss’s Are You My Mother? To this day I can still feel that excitement when I read the words to my mom and she praised me for getting them right. From then on I read every book I could get my hands on. Eventually I learned to write and that started to transform from classroom assignments to my own explorations in writing. In high school, I frequently found ways to turn ordinary writing assignments into creative writing pieces. Junior year we had to write a piece about fate vs. free will and what that meant to us. While the other kids in my class wrote their straightforward opinions, I wrote my paper as a ‘choose your own adventure’ book. I compared fate and free will to these books and explained it by giving the reader the option on how to read my paper. It wasn’t until college however that I really decided that I wanted to be a writer. When I first left my small town in Indiana to go to school in LA at USC, my major was undecided. I’d looked at journalism and communications, but they didn’t appeal to me that much. So I stayed undecided and I took a required GE class on writing papers and instead of writing mine as assigned I once again turned it into a creative writing piece. This time however the professor acknowledged my skills and then wondered if I’d ever considered majoring in Creative Writing. I hadn’t. In fact, I didn’t even know you could major in it. So I chose Creative Writing and I’ve never felt more sure of a decision since.

Creative Writing classes mainly focus on short stories and poetry, how did you end up working in Hollywood?

When you go to a school like USC that’s known for producing some of the Hollywood greats, you kind of get sucked into it. But truthfully, the industry has always fascinated me – there’s something about the draw of celebrity and fantasy that a shy Midwestern girl finds hard to resist (yes, growing up I wanted to go to school with Donna, Brenda and Kelly – because life in 90210 looked perfect). Also, I thought making a living as a novelist would be too hard, and all you hear about in Los Angeles is writers selling scripts for a million dollars. So I devised a plan. I’d work in Hollywood so that I could make enough money to retire and write novels. Funny thing is, the first thing I ever got paid to write was a novel.

You were fairly young the first time you got paid to write, what was that experience like?

I was twenty-four when I wrote the first novelization of the television show The OC. It was crazy because I was also working as an assistant to Stephanie Savage, the producer behind Gossip Girl, The OC, Astronaut Wives’ Club and others. I was basically working ten to twelve hours a day on the TV shows and movies she was producing and spending whatever extra time I could find to write the novel. I remember I got the assignment in December. I figured, since all I had ever read about writing novels was that it took writers years to write books, that I would have at least a year to write this one. Boy was I wrong. I turned in one chapter in mid-December. I thought Scholastic would send me some notes and I’d keep going from there. Instead, they called in January and asked if I could have the book done at the end of the month. I was flabbergasted. In my head I thought I was going to be the next great American writer and I did not want to be rushed. I needed extra time. They gave me until the end of February. I got the work done and went on to write two more of those novels for Scholastic. Since then every other book I’ve written I’ve done in shorter and shorter amounts of time. The last book I wrote, Yoga for Beginnners, I wrote in three weeks. My memoir, Love Sick, however? That’s a whole other story.

Okay, so how long did it take you to write your memoir?

Eight years. Now that doesn’t mean that I sat at my computer every day for eight years straight and wrote the thing. In fact it was quite the opposite. I wrote in spurts. When I first came up with the idea for the memoir, I had just been diagnosed with MS and my mind was flooded with thoughts on how it would affect my life and I knew there had to be a story in there somewhere. So one month after that fateful day at the MS specialist’s office I signed up for a memoir writing class at UCLA extension. I wasn’t expecting much in terms of the instruction (yes, I still have a USC bias), all I wanted was for someone to give me assignments and hold me accountable to a few deadlines and give me some feedback on my writing. What I got was far more than that. Deanne Stillman, the instructor and an accomplished writer herself, gave us amazing prompts and assignments each week and those became the first fifty pages of the memoir. Well, the first fifty in the original version, but that’s beside the point, because also in that class was a writer by the name of Chris Miller. He’s one of the writers behind the movie Animal House. He wrote for the Lampoon and has his own memoir, The Real Animal House. Anyway, the only reason I bring this up is because after we had to read our first assignment aloud in class, Chris came to me afterwards and said. “You’re really funny. You’ve got what it takes to do this.” I was so flattered because I had never thought of myself as funny. In fact, if you meet me in real life I am quiet and am constantly rethinking what I say. But hearing that the man who helped create the iconic movie that is Animal House thought that I had something to offer as a writer was the first bit of encouragement I needed to keep going. From there the book got written in bursts of fifty pages here and there and a thousand different rewrites. And that’s why it took eight years.

How did you come up with the title?

The original title was M.S. to M-R-S. It was a play on words, or letters shall I say. I came up with it when I was twenty-eight and all my friends were getting married around me. I thought my time would come soon and wouldn’t it be clever if I wrote a book about MS and dating and eventually got married, thus turning the M.S. into an M-R-S in front of my name. Of course, years later when I realized this was not going to happen and making life choices based on trying to keep a title of a book was not the best way to go about life, I dropped that title and started searching for something new. I kept a little notes section going in my phone and whenever I had a title idea I would write it in there. For almost a year I did this and nothing was sticking. Then one day I was out for a walk and it hit me. Love Sick. It was the perfect play on words. A few days later I looked it up on urban dictionary and found this: “A deep often depressing feeling of wanting to find love. To be longing for love; to be without a companion to share one’s life with, though it is desired deeply.” And I knew I had made the right decision.

A big part of the struggle you went through in dealing with MS was wondering when you should tell people or if you should tell at all. When did you tell people? And do you have any advice for others dealing with this?

Honestly, up until about five months before Love Sick was about to come out I kept the MS a secret from most people. Except for my family and my close friends, no one knew. Then one day in October, 2015 I saw that Playboy announced that they were getting rid of nudes from their magazine. And I thought, oh my gosh, I have a story that would go perfect with this. There was a chapter that used to be in my book that talked about all the things I wanted to do with my body before it failed me. It was a bucket list of sorts, only I called it my wheelchair list. In this piece of writing I talked about the kinds of things that you would only fantasize about if you were dealing with the fact that one day soon you might end up in a wheelchair or lose control of your body. On that list was posing naked in Playboy. It was a tongue in cheek look at what happens when you face something like MS and you let your imagination run free. Anyway, I pitched the story to XOJane, the online women’s magazine, and they liked it. Two days later that article ran. I posted it to my own Facebook and Instagram pages and watched the comments roll in. People from all stages of my life were commending me for my braveness, and that’s when it occurred to me I wasn’t just showing off another piece of my writing I had literally outed myself to all of my friends that I was dealing with MS. If you had told me years ago to go and do that I would’ve thought you were crazy. I would’ve been scared out of my mind to post something so personal about something that I believed made me so ugly and unlovable. But posting it under the guise of my writing made me realize that I had a story to tell and that I could help others by sharing it. It also helped me to get over any fear I had of telling others about my disease, or publishing my memoir. Now, I don’t recommend to others who might be in my situation that they should go out and shout their health matters to the world, but if you have a story to tell or you believe others can relate then I think you should share it with them. This doesn’t have to be so public either. It can be on a case-by-case basis. Think about who you’re going to tell and why you’re telling them. Is it because you want them to know that you understand a struggle they’re facing? Is it because you need help or support? Or is it because you’re beginning a relationship with them and you don’t want to have secrets? Whatever the reason, make sure it is one that will be satisfied by you telling the person. Because I have learned from experience that if you tell the wrong people and you are not ready for their reaction it can be devastating.

Your story, or life for that matter, has not been easy and yet you have such an optimistic and humorous approach to it. How do you do this?

You know, I wish I could tell you, because if I could I would sell that idea in a heartbeat. I would make myself the next self-help guru and knock Tony Robbins on his feet. What I can tell you is that I am very lucky to have the family I have. My parents have been extremely supportive and they always made me feel like I could accomplish anything I wanted. But also, they kept me grounded. While I was a fairly good student growing up, I had a few bad grades on tests and assignments here and there. I remember the first time I brought a bad grade home. I was scared to death to show my parents. But when I finally mustered up the courage to give it to them, they laughed and hung the big F on the refrigerator. They wanted me to own what I had and not be ashamed. And that’s the lesson: If you can’t own your shortcomings or your failures or the shit life deals you, and laugh through it all then life is going to be quite difficult. So now I own what I’ve got.

Besides writing, yoga seems to be the one thing in your memoir that gives you respite from the disease. Can you talk about this?

Ah, yoga. You would think I’d have come to it after getting the MS diagnosis as a way to stay healthy. But honestly, I found yoga a year prior to receiving my prognosis. It was after a bad break up with a not so nice guy. Our relationship was extremely unhealthy, we ate like crap together and never worked out. I was probably in the worst shape of my life after that breakup. So I decided to make a change and again, own my shit and take responsibility for it. I signed up for a six-week transformation program at my local health spa. It included yoga, time with a nutritionist, another workout plan and acupuncture. It was amazing. I got back in shape and despite the fact that I had always thought yoga was weird and too soft for me, I became addicted to it. At first it was all about the physicality of the poses, being able to do crazy things with my body that I probably hadn’t done since I was a kid on a jungle gym or in gymnastics class, but then it became about far more. It started to seep into other parts of my life and I started to feel so great, and when things started to get more serious with the testing and the doctor’s ideas of what was actually wrong with my body, yoga was there to help me keep a sense of calm. Obviously, if you’ve read my book you know that it’s become a far bigger part of my life, but I don’t want to give anything away. Instead I want to leave you with this, yoga is not always about the poses, if you practice it often enough it becomes a way of life, and for me, nothing has ever rang more true.

How do I reach you? Or better yet, how can I internet stalk you?

You can email me at corymartinyoga@gmail.com
Or find me on Facebook at /corymartinyoga
Or Instagram at @corymartinwrites

Backstage Pass by Olivia Cunning…Book Spotlight, Excerpt, & Giveaway

9781492638698-PR

Synopsis:

THE SINNERS ARE BACK – Reissue of the first in a sizzling rock-star romance series from USA Today bestselling author Olivia Cunning

It’s been months since Brian Sinclair, lead guitarist for the famous rock band, The Sinners, composed anything. Unable to write the music that once flowed so naturally, Brian is lost without his musical mo-jo. But when sexy psychology professor Myrna Evans comes on tour to study groupie mentality, Brian may have found the spark he needs to re-ignite his musical genius. When lust turns to love, will Brian be able to convince Myrna that what they have is more than just a fling, and that now that he’s found his heart’s muse, he doesn’t want to live without her?

 

Excerpt:

She squeaked in surprise when he lifted her off the ground and tossed her over his shoulder. He gave her ass a playful swat.

“You, Miss Evans, are being very naughty today.”

“I’m always naughty.”

“True. But today’s naughtiness is poking holes in my fragile ego.”

Myrna laughed and slid her hand down the back of his pants to toy with the smooth skin on his butt.

“None of that.” He pulled her hand out of his pants.

“Since when is your ego fragile?”

“Since I met you.”

“So is that the attraction?”

“Huh?”

“Well, I can’t help but wonder why you’re so interested in me when you can get much better looking and younger women who jump at your every command.”

“There are no better looking women than you. Though I admit most of my girlfriends have been younger. Okay, all of them have been younger. I didn’t know what I was missing.”

She slid her hand into the back of his pants again.

“What are you doing?” he asked, pulling her off his shoulder and setting her back to her feet.

“Convincing you to let me down.” She grinned up at him mischievously. “It worked.”

He shook his head at her. “You never do what I expect you to do.”

“Then maybe that’s the attraction.”

“Is it really so hard for you to believe that I’ve fallen for you for no reason whatsoever?”

“There has to be a reason.”

“It’s more like there is no reason for me not to fall for you. You’re everything I want.”

“I don’t think I’m cut out to be a rock star’s girlfriend.” It made her heart ache to say it, but it had been weighing on her mind a lot lately. The more she talked to Brian’s groupies, the more jealous she became. She knew he had no real interest in them, but they were so available and she knew she wasn’t there for him emotionally. What if he decided she wasn’t fun anymore? That he needed more than she could give him? Would he toss her aside? And why did that thought bother her so much anyway? It wasn’t as if they were serious.

He touched her cheek gently. “Then don’t be a rock star’s girlfriend. Be Brian Sinclair’s girlfriend.”

“They’re one and the same. Your life is so interesting and mine is so ordinary. Boring. I’m an over-educated farm girl from the Midwest.”

“And I’m a college dropout from the West Coast.”

“You went to college?”

“For one semester.”

“What did you study?”

“Girls, mostly.”

She poked him in the ribs. “Why did you drop out? You could have graduated Summa Cum Laude.”

“Sinners signed a record deal.”

“Wow, that young? Did your father help you get it? He must have millions of connections in the business.”

Brian laughed. “Here’s the thing about my dad. He never once encouraged my music career. We cut our first album with a small independent label and went on tour in a piece of shit van for eight months. I’ve never been hungrier in my life. It didn’t help that Jon kept stealing our cash to feed his drug habit. When I finally swallowed my pride and asked my dad if he could offer some support, do you know what he said?”

“What?”

“If you really want to follow this dream, you need to suffer for it so it means something to you if you manage to reach the top. He wouldn’t even buy me new guitar strings. Ever try to play a solo missing your second string? Uh, yeah… Not good.”

“Did you hate him for that?”

“Nah, I thought I did, but now I realize he was right. If you don’t have to work for something, you just don’t appreciate it as much.”

Myrna nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I can understand that. That’s why I went for my PhD. My parents didn’t support me when I went to college. They thought I should get married and have kids. Stay home and raise them like a clone of my mother. So when I was in college, I worked my ass off at odd jobs while most of the traditional students had their tuition and bills paid by their parents. Going it on my own really did make me appreciate it more. I worked harder to get good grades, too. I wanted to prove I could do it.”

He hugged her. “See we do have more in common than great sex.”

“Fabulous sex.”

“Amazing sex.”

“Yeah, let’s have some of that right now.”

He squeezed her butt. “Not until after the show.”

“You know I love a challenge, right?” She closed the gap between them, her hand cupping his half-hard cock through his pants. “I’m very determined to get what I want.”

“Something else we have in common.” He removed her hand from his crotch. “Will you watch the show tonight instead of interviewing the groupies?”

“Will you make it worth my while?”

“Do you have to ask?”

“Brian, I’m incredibly turned on right now.”

He groaned. “You don’t plan to make this easy on me, do you?”

“Do you have to ask?”

He stared at her for a moment, worrying his lips with his tongue. He looked ready to pounce on her and she was more than ready to be pounced on.

“Farmer’s daughter, huh? I know nothing about farming,” he said. “What’s that like?”

She sighed in exasperation. “You really are going to make me wait until tonight, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

She turned and started walking back the way they’d come. They must have walked at least a mile down the beach. “Farming is boring,” she called over her shoulder. “That’s all you need to know.”

He jogged to catch up with her. “You’re not going to get out of this that easily. Tell me something about yourself.”

A rumble of thunder reverberated above. Myrna looked up at the black clouds. “I think we should make a run for it.”

“It’s too late. We’ll never outrun it.”

The first fat rain drops splattered across Myrna’s upturned face. “We’re going to get soaked.”

She dashed toward the car at a full run. When she reached the car, she tugged the door handle. Locked. Brian had the keys. She turned to find him sedately walking up the beach.

“Hurry!” The clouds opened wide and drenched her within seconds. “Brian, hurry!”

She could see him grinning to himself as the rain plastered his hair to his head and his shirt to the contours of his chest. He didn’t pick up his pace though. She stood there, shivering, waiting for him to open the car. When he finally reached her, he drew her chilled body against his, his strong hands splaying over her back.

“Open the door.” She reached behind her to grab the door handle.

“No.” His fingers sank into the wet strands of her hair, tilting her head back. He stared into her eyes until she released the door handle and slid her hands up his belly and chest. He lowered his head and kissed her, his fingers easing her dress’s zipper down. He brushed the straps of her sundress from her shoulders, exposing her breasts to the elements. Goose bumps rose to the surface of her skin and her nipples ached as they beaded in the chilly air. Rivulets of rain trickled over her shoulders, between her breasts, down her belly. Brian lowered his head and collected water from her skin with his warm tongue. His mouth burned over her flesh.

Myrna groaned and reached for his fly. If she unleashed The Beast, she knew he would end her torment and possess her body with his. Hopefully right there on the cold, slick hood of her car. Before she could release the button of his jeans, he grabbed her wrists in a steely grip and pinned her arms to her sides.

“No,” he said.

He gazed up at her, water dripping from his nose and chin.

“No?”

“That’s what I said.”

He sucked her beaded nipple into his mouth. His hot tongue rubbed against her sensitive flesh, drawing moans of pleasure from her. She struggled to release her wrists from his grip, wanting to bury her fingers in his hair, but he refused to set her free. She jerked her body away from his devilish tongue, changed her mind, and twisted to offer him her other breast.

When he didn’t immediately draw it into his mouth, she looked down at him. His devilish grin made her heart throb.

“Do you want me to suck this one, too?” He stroked her neglected nipple with the tip of his nose.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, please.”

He drew the flat of his tongue over her offered nipple and she shuddered.

“I think my work here is done.” He stood straight and released her wrists.

“Oh no it’s not.” She threw her body against his, her fingers tangling in the wet strands of his hair, her mouth seeking his in a desperate kiss. He kissed her in return, while drawing the bodice of her dress to cover her breasts and zipping the garment at her back.

He pulled away all too soon. He looked up at the sky, blinking rain from his eyes. “I don’t think this rain is going to let up any time soon.” He retrieved the keys from his pocket and unlocked the car door. Before she could climb into the warm, dry interior of the car, he asked, “Have you changed your mind about going to L.A. with me yet?”

“Is that what this is about?”

“Nope. I just want you to want me really, really bad.”

“Mission accomplished.”

Backstage Pass

 

About Olivia Cunning:

Raised on hard rock music, award-winning author Olivia Cunning has been known to travel over a thousand miles to see a favorite band in concert. She lives in Quincy, Illinois, where she enjoys sitting on the beach with her feet in the surf and penning naughty books about rock stars.

 

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Risk of Exposure by Emmy Curtis…Book Spotlight & Excerpt

RiskofExposure4_RGB300RISK OF EXPOSURE

by Emmy Curtis

Available 05/03/16

Book #6 – Alpha Ops Series

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Forever Yours

He is a trained professional—but nothing can prepare him for the hottest mission of his life. Assigned to protect his boss’s daughter, British former SAS operative Malone Garrett breaks the first rule of covert surveillance—don’t make contact. And especially don’t take your mark out to dinner, then agree to a rooftop quickie.  But now that Mal has Abby in his arms, he has no intention of ever letting her go.

Abby Baston told herself it was a hit and quit, a one-nighter with a hot, handsome stranger whose hands were trained to take action. Working undercover for the CIA, she can’t risk anything more. But when an international crisis ignites, Abby must make a call: trust Mal with her secret—and her heart—and partner up, or lose everything in a split second . . .

 

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Emmy Curtis is an editor and a romance writer. An ex-pat Brit, she quells her homesickness with Cadbury Flakes and Fray Bentos pies. She’s lived in London, Paris and New York, and has settled for the time being, in North Carolina. When not writing, Emmy loves to travel with her military husband and take long walks with their Lab. All things considered, her life is chock full of hoot, just a little bit of nanny. And if you get that reference…well, she already considers you kin.

Connect with Emmy at: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | GoodReads| Amazon

 

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The Alpha Ops Series: 

(while books in this series are loosely connected, all function as standalones)

Dangerous Territory- Book 1- novella –only 99 cents!

Goodreads  | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

 

Over the Line- Book 2

Goodreads  | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

 

Pushing the Limit- Book 3

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Blowback- Book 4

Goodreads  | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

Compromised- Book 5

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Excerpt:

 

Five minutes into her short drive home, she passed another old beater Škoda with its hood up. She slowed down. It was pointing the opposite way, so it wasn’t like she could really offer him a ride. She was about to pass it, when she caught sight of the man, or more specifically, his jacket. It was bright red and emblazoned with MEDCIN SAND FRONTIERS. She pulled over. She wasn’t going to strand a fellow aid worker in the countryside at night.

Ca va?” she asked.

“Eh. I’ve been better,” he replied in a deep voice with a distinct English accent.

“And you’re not French,” she said, slamming her door and striding over to him.

“Not even a little bit.” He straightened and blew out a sigh as he held his hand out to her. “Malone Garrett. Thanks for stopping.”

She shook his hand and looked into the engine. “Anything I can help with?”

He cocked his head and looked down at her.

A jolt of awareness flashed through her as he met her eyes. He was all man. Firm jaw, really blue eyes, way over six feet, and built to match. His jean-clad legs were long and clearly muscled. She suddenly wanted to see what was under his jacket and shirt…Her long-dormant libido kick-started in her stomach, sending unwelcome messages through her body. Jesus, girl. Get a grip.

“Are you good with cars?” he asked, a hint of a smile behind his words.

I can hot-wire them, siphon fuel from them, disable them, make them explode, and change a fan belt. But aside from that, not really.

“I’m good at giving stranded motorists rides back into town,” she said, as if she was admitting she knew nothing about cars.

“In which case, I’d be grateful to take advantage of that skill, if you don’t mind,” he said, closing the hood. He got back into his car, turned off the headlights, and grabbed a messenger bag from the backseat.

She got in her car and watched him in her rearview mirror. His accent did strange things to her. Maybe it was just speaking to someone who actually spoke English as a first language. Maybe it was something different. Holy hell. Did God send him because she’d been determined to meet someone? Or at least touch someone?

He opened the door and peered in. “Are you sure? I promise I’m not an ax murderer.” He smiled disarmingly, and for a second she considered that that was precisely what an ax murderer would say. She shrugged to herself. Anything to relieve the boredom of her life.

“Sure. Maybe you should be asking if I’m the ax murderer?”

A frown flickered across his face for a second and she laughed. “I’m not, I promise.”

He got in and put his seat belt on. “Isn’t that exactly what an ax murderer would say, though?”

She laughed again. “You’re the one who brought up ax murderers. Maybe I kill with a spork. Maybe you’re making me feel inferior with all your talk about axes.” She pulled onto the road and headed toward the flickering lights of the town about thirteen miles away.

“Then let’s drop the subject. Although, clearly, axes are superior in that line of business.”

She sniffed. “You haven’t seen what I can do with a spork.”

He laughed, a low belly laugh. “So perhaps I can take you out to dinner, to thank you for your assistance this evening. That way, I can see firsthand how proficient you are with cutlery.”

 

 

 

Flash of Fire by M.L. Buchman…Spotlight Tour Stop

FOF

Title: Flash of Fire

Author: M.L. Buchman

Pubdate: May 3rd, 2016

ISBN: 9781492619192

 

Fourth in M.L. Buchman’s critically acclaimed Firehawks romantic suspense series 

When former Army National Guard helicopter pilot Robin Harrow joins Mount Hood Aviation, she expects to fight fires for only one season. Instead, she finds herself getting deeply entrenched with one of the most elite firefighting teams in the world. And that’s before they send her on a mission that’s seriously top secret, with a flight partner who’s seriously hot.

Mickey Hamilton loves flying, firefighting, and women, in that order. But when Robin Harrow roars across his radar, his priorities go out the window. On a critical mission deep in enemy territory, their past burns away and they must face each other. Their one shot at a future demands that they first survive the present—together.

M.L. Buchman has over 40 novels in print. His military romantic suspense books have been named Barnes & Noble and NPR “Top 5 of the year” and twice Booklist “Top 10 of the Year,” placing two titles on their “Top 101 Romances of the Last 10 Years” list. He has been nominated for the Reviewer’s Choice Award for “Top 10 Romantic Suspense of 2014” by RT Book Reviews and is a 2016 RWA RITA finalist. In addition to romance, he also writes thrillers, fantasy, and science fiction. He is constantly amazed at what can be done with a degree in geophysics. You may keep up with his writing and receive exclusive content by subscribing to his newsletter at www.mlbuchman.com.

 

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Visit M.L. Buchman’s website for more military romantic suspense!

 

 

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the latest in my Firehawks world.

Flash of Fire posed an interesting challenge for me right from the first page. There is a balance in building a romance world: I want it to be big enough to be interesting and small enough to be cozy.

In Pure Heat, Full Blaze, and Hot Point I had focused on the fliers of the three big Firehawk helicopters. But I didn’t want my little Mount Hood Aviation heli-aviation wildland firefighting group to get much bigger. Another consideration was that the series name is Firehawks and I wanted to honor that with another story using a pilot of one of the converted Black Hawk helicopters.

The challenge was that I already had married couples in each of the three pilot seats: Emily Beale, Jeannie Clark, and Vern Taylor.

And then I remembered a little scene in the Night Stalkers Bring On the Dusk.

Emily hadn’t eaten breakfast and only picked at her lunch complaining of a queasy stomach from the flight.

“Either that or you’re about to have another kid,” Claudia teased her.

Emily looked down at her perfectly flat stomach and then began swearing. “I’m going to kill Mark. I’m just going to kill him.”

“You don’t want another kid?” Claudia didn’t know whether to laugh or be shocked.

“The man is so insatiable, not that I’m complaining. We ran out of protection and figured one time without wasn’t going to…” She sighed and then rubbed her belly gently. “It’ll be alright.” She told her midriff. “You just won’t have a father.”

The goofy smile that bloomed on the woman’s face did something to Claudia.

Well, crap! I’d made poor Emily pregnant back in March, a year ago. So apologies for the 15-month pregnancy (no wonder she’s so pissed off by the time she’s too pregnant to fly in Flash of Fire).

With her seat now open, I needed someone who could fill it. Fill Emily Beale’s seat? Who was I kidding? She was the most kickass heroine I’d ever written. Well, I wasn’t the only one feeling daunted, the poor character I put in her place was plenty overwhelmed as well.

But then Robin Harrow never met a challenge she couldn’t face down…at least not until she met Mickey Hamilton, the pilot of a smaller Bell Twin-212. Which also solved my initial problem of transitioning from the big Firehawks to the smaller birds in the fleet.

I always love it when the characters take the story right out of my hands and run with it and Flash of Fire was certainly one of those.

Hope you enjoy the flight,

M.L. “Matt” Buchman

 

 

An Excerpt:

Best buddies Mickey and Gordon have been jostling for attention from Vanessa, one of the other helicopter pilots. Gordon and Vanessa are assigned off to one fire, Mickey and the new pilot to another. They’re standing on the airfield about to part ways.

 

Mickey almost left Gordon to his own devices, but he’d be bound to screw it up. Just as he was duty bound to try to cut his friend off from any attractive woman, he also had to help him if he could.

“Gordon?”

“What?” his friend still looked a little overwhelmed.

“With Vanessa, just be yourself. Don’t gum it up with trying to be charming; it doesn’t work for you.”

“Sure it does,” he protested. “I’m a charming kind of guy.” He shot Mickey a grin.

Then he looked more carefully at Mickey’s expression and sighed. Mickey didn’t have to say a word.

“Okay, maybe not so much with the charm. Thanks, Mick,” and he turned for his helo.

Mickey caught his sleeve before he could move off, “Her name?” he nodded back over his shoulder toward the newbie.

“Robin something.”

“Like the bird?”

“Like,” that smooth female voice sounded from close behind him, “Robin Hood who will put an arrow in your ass if you say Robin Red Breast.”

Mickey turned to face her. He decided that all of his first judgments at a distance were accurate, and at this close range they were ten times more powerful—both the fine looks and the serious dose of attitude.

“Hi! Mickey Hamilton,” he held out a hand. “As long as it’s not a Firehawk you’re trying to ram up my ass, I’m fine.”

That earned a half smile; nice on the lips, not touching those crystalline pure blue eyes. Her hand was fine-fingered yet strong, like she did a lot of lifting with it. A lot. She glanced over his shoulder.

“He’s Gordon Finchley,” Mickey filled in before Gordon could speak and get a foot in the door. Helping him with Vanessa was one thing; easing his access to this pretty unknown was not going to happen. “Yeah, Finch just like a little Tweety bird. Don’t pay him any mind.”

“Hi, Gordon. Good luck in Leavenworth,” she leaned around Mickey and reached out a hand, which Gordon shook as he mumbled something unintelligible. Or perhaps it was intelligible and Mickey just couldn’t hear it.

He was struck by several things at once. It was the first time he’d actually seen Robin move, and both of his first guesses of ballerina and workout diva were equally justified. Her simple move was both lithe and powerful. Martial arts student perhaps. If so, it was a different form than his Taekwondo, something with more grace and flexibility.

Also, her lean toward Gordon had placed her so close that he could smell her. Her Nomex flightsuit was brand new and the woman wearing it smelled of clean soap and…cool ice—that impossible clarity of air when snow skiing. As if—newborn was the wrong image—newly wrought.

# # #

Gordon actually wasn’t fluttery like a Tweety bird, but he was also clearly a sweet man—a major mark against him in Robin’s book.

She knew from past experience that she tended to scare the shit out of men like him. They wanted her, but she would run over them roughshod, even on the rare occasions when she was trying not to.

This Mickey on the other hand, she had been able to feel him watching her from the moment she’d hit the line. He hadn’t shifted away as she reached past him to greet Gordon, letting her lean right into his personal space.

Guys named Mickey were supposed to look like hoodlums or something. Instead Mickey Hamilton looked like a cop…or a firefighter. The trustworthy kind, not the sneaky shit she’d always pictured slipping from her mother’s bed in the dark of the night and never coming back.

Up close she could appreciate how nicely broad his shoulders were. And he had the kind of blue eyes that could see through any fog or other BS—far away the best feature on a very handsome face. He was an inch taller than she was but looked bigger and more solid than his taller finch-friend.

Robin knew that—because her heritage was half firefighter and half truck-stop mama—she was a pushover for Mickey’s type. Now she had to ask if she wanted to be a pushover this time, or not.

She rocked back onto her heels and Gordon slipped out of her attention. Mickey didn’t fade in the slightest. He had a slow smile, a real one that showed beneath the quick grin he’d been using to tease his buddy.

He didn’t blink, squint, look away…or look down toward her chest. Mickey faced her eye to eye and offered that easy smile.

Summer is definitely looking up, she thought to herself. Most definitely. Didn’t mean she was going to make it easy for him.

“Mickey? Like the mouse?”

Gordon snorted out a laugh, slapped Mickey on the back, and headed away.

“Not Mickey Rooney either,” he offered in an unperturbed tone, showing no desire to hurry off to his aircraft.

“Not short and round?”

“Nor likely to break into a song-and-dance routine. And Mickey Mantle died about the time we both entered grade school, so I’m not him either.”

“How about Mickey Blue Eyes?”

“Well, my name is Mickey. Eyes are blue.”

“You don’t strike me as the Hugh Grant romantic comedy type.”

He shrugged noncommittally, “You the type to watch them?”

“Not so much,” Robin admitted. Astute question. “So, Mick Blue Eyes it is.”

At that he smiled and those blue eyes lit and sparkled with laughter that was only suggested by the sudden curve of his lips.

 

 

Outlaw Cowboy by Nicole Helm…Book Spotlight and Author Guest Post

9781492621270

Title: Outlaw Cowboy

Author: Nicole Helm

Series: Big Sky Cowboys, #2

Pubdate: May 3rd, 2016

ISBN: 9781492621270

BIG SKY TROUBLE

Ever since his father’s accident, Caleb Shaw vowed he’d mend his wild ways, and he means to keep his word. He’s a changed man. A better man. And he knows he should want absolutely nothing to do with his crazy old life…or the maddening temptation that is Delia Rogers.

Because Delia? Is nothing but trouble.

Delia’s been stealing her sisters away from their violent father ever since she was old enough to fight back. But now with the police on her trail and all her bridges burned, there’s nowhere left to run but back into the arms of the one cowboy she knows she shouldn’t need. Caleb has always been too good for her, no matter how bad he claimed to be. Yet when close quarters turn into something more, Delia and Caleb are forced to decide what really matters: mending their reputations or healing their wary hearts…

 

What are your Top 5 must haves for writing?

As a mom of two young kids, the wife of a man with a very non-traditional work schedule, and just someone who isn’t very good at following a rigid schedule, writing for me happens whenever and wherever it needs to. I don’t have much of a ritual, or ‘must-haves’ for writing.

However, there are certain things that get me in the mood to write, or help me focus when I have such luxury.

First, I make a Spotify soundtrack for each book I’m working on. It helps set the mood, and then if I’m switching between edits on one book and writing another, as I am often doing, switching soundtracks helps me immediately get into the right headspace. In fact, if you have spotify, you can listen to OUTLAW COWBOY’s soundtrack here. It’s heavy on the Dierks Bentley, as so many of my soundtracks are.

Second, I always have a Pinterest board for each book. In the beginning, it usually helps orient me, helps me decide how I want the characters, houses, settings to look. As I’m writing, I often go back to the Pinterest board if I’m stuck, hoping it will spark an idea. I’ve actually written a lot of scenes that were inspired by happening upon a random pin. In fact, in OUTLAW COWBOY both Delia’s engraving on the bottom of her boot, and Rose’s engraving on her gun were inspired by Pins I found. If you’re interested in the OUTLAW COWBOY Pinterest board, you can find it here.

Third, well I mean I have to have my computer (that should probably have come first) to do all of these things. I never write by hand anymore. Sometimes I will plot on pen and paper (when desperate measures are needed), but everything I do is typed. First drafts, edits, what have you, I have become so computer oriented that I recently wrote a letter to my grandparents and it was nearly illegible as it had been FOREVER since I’d had to hand write anything. I can type much faster than I can handwrite, and I can dictate even faster than I type, which is how I’ve been writing books lately. So, Mr. Computer is most important in the must haves, that’s for sure.

Fourth, in the world of beverages, I am a caffeine queen. If it’s morning, I usually have a mug of coffee at my elbow, and if it’s afternoon, I’ll have a can of pop/soda/whatever you call it. Usually it’s a Coke, and it is what gets me through the afternoon.

Lastly, my deep dark probably not at all secret is that, although I like chocolate, it’s not my go to writing snack like it is for so many romance writers. I love fruity candy—Starburst, Skittles (greens picked out), Jolly Ranchers (no watermelon, please!), Nerds, Twizzlers, Now and Laters, it’s a sad day indeed if I’m out of my favorite candy. (There may be a mountain of Starburst wrappers at my elbow as I type because, even though it’s morning, mentioning candy necessitates eating it). I even had a candy bar at my wedding, as my love of candy is known far and wide. I can tell you far too much about the way different candies have changed their colors over the years (RIP lime Skittles, Lifesavers, and lemon Jolly Ranchers).

Also, a shout out to my bed, where I can curl up and happily work when my husband is on day shift and my kids are at school. A truly important must-have runner up.

 

Nicole Helm writes down-to-earth contemporary romance specializing in people who don’t live close enough to neighbors for them to be a problem. When she’s not writing, she spends her time dreaming about someday owning a barn. She lives with her husband and two young sons in O’Fallon, Missouri. 

Visit Nicole’s website for more down-to-earth contemporary romance!

 

Buy Links:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1Ma67gF

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Claimed by the Warrior by Eliza Knight…Spotlight & Excerpt

Claimed by the Warrior
The Conquered Bride Series
Book 3
Releasing 3/31/16
He came to conquer…
A widower, Laird Torsten Mackenzie, has worked long and hard to regain the respect his clan deserved after his older brother turned traitorous. Even in death, Cathal’s  crimes remain a mar on Torsten’s conscience. Setting aside his grief, Torsten devotes his life to his people, and to his young, motherless daughter. When a rival clan attacks his lands unprovoked, he’s determined to put them in their place once and for all. Marching on their gates, he’s taken by surprise when Lady MacDonell steps through the opening instead of her wayward husband. Reacting impulsively, Torsten exacts his revenge by whisking her away.
But she laid claim to his heart…
Headstrong and fierce, Éabha MacDonell’s true nature has been buried for six long years in a marriage that fills her with shame, and has kept her tucked in the shadows. But the death of her husband, and being forced from the only home she’s ever known, brings freedom in a way she’d never imagined. Free to rediscover parts of herself she’d thought never to behold again—her love of art, her desire for children. But most of all, the tug at her heart, the warmth of a secret glance and the heat of a passionate embrace.
In the arms of her captor, Éabha’s more liberated than she’s ever been before and Torsten might just have found the one person who can make him whole again.

Excerpt:

Damned MacDonells.

Why the hell did those bloody fools have to keep raiding? Had they not yet learned their lesson?

Laird Torsten Mackenzie crouched just out of arrow’s reach from the high, thick walls of the MacDonell’s castle.

The fortress loomed up in the moonlight, but despite its fortifications, he planned to breach it this very night. A promise

he’d made the last time the bastards had dared to cross onto his land.

Torsten was certain he’d been clear that any further raids on his lands would not be tolerated. Another raid from the

MacDonells was a declaration of war, he’d even put it in writing so the imbeciles would not be confused. Yet, despite

his warnings, the arseholes had done so again, trampling crops, burning crofter’s homes, beating tenants and violating

women.

Rage lanced hot through Torsten’s veins. He gripped the reins tighter, his body stiffened, and his mount, Lucifer,

tossed his head in irritation. When he got ahold of Donald MacDonell, that sorry excuse for a laird, he was going to beat

him to a bloody pulp, until the last of his breath escaped and his face was unrecognizable.

His warhorse snorted and Torsten loosened his grip, concentrating his fury on the castle just beyond.

“My laird?”

Torsten glanced at Little Rob, his second-in- command, a man not so little in personality or size. He, too, had steel-

studded leather armor covering his leine shirt, his green and blue plaid muted in the darkness.

“Wait.” Torsten glowered at the wall and keep, imagining the men inside celebrating their latest raid, and reliving

every horrifying moment. Well, Torsten, wasn’t celebrating, and his people surely weren’t. They were trying to pick up

the pieces of their lives, while desperately trying not to relive it. Donald MacDonell had better start praying now, for

Torsten would show no mercy.

 

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About the Author:


Eliza Knight is a USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of sizzling historical romance and time-travel erotic romance. Under the name E. Knight, she pens riveting historical fiction. She runs the award-winning blog, History Undressed. When not reading, writing and researching, she likes to cuddle up in front of a warm fire with her own knight in shining armor. Visit Eliza at www.elizaknight.com or www.historyundressed.com


Quinn and Quinn II by J.C. Cliff…Series Spotlight

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Quinn Synopsis: 
 
You have been warned – Explicit scenes, unexpected twists full of suspense and off the grid angst which skirt along the edges of the dark side will make your heart pound, your pulse race, and the pages flip. And…be prepared to be thrown over a damn cliff. 
Fearless and determined, Quinn is the perfect man for the job the Moretti mob has in mind: track down missing mafia princess, Alexis Moretti, and bring her home.

What starts out as a simple task to repay an old debt turns into so much more than he bargained for… And so does she.

As Quinn and Lexi grow close, she becomes more than just his mission. But Lexi and Quinn are both keeping secrets–secrets that could destroy their blossoming romance just as quickly as it ignited. When Lexi’s past catches up with them, secrets and lies will be revealed, and the ultimate test of forgiveness will be upon them both.

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Quinn II Synopsis: 
QUINN IS BACK and pushing the limits on it all — suspense, sex, love, gut-wrenching emotions — with a fiery intense conclusion to his and Lexi’s story. The more Alexis runs, the harder Quinn fights for her.

It’s an undeniable truth; bad things happen to good people, and Lexi is not impervious to the realities of the life she left behind.
Keeping Lexi safe at all cost, Quinn remains unwavering in his duties, constantly putting his life on the line, time and time again.
Two tortured souls are pushed to the edges of their sanity and their love will be put to the test. Tempers flare, emotions burst, and love flickers, but after the ultimate explosion, can forgiveness be found amongst the rubble?
Alexis needs Quinn more than ever…and Quinn must decide if Lexi is truly his fate or if their romance was never meant to survive beyond his mission. One thing is for certain: neither Quinn nor Alexis will be the same after surfacing from the mountain trails. Now that they’ve survived the wild, can they survive each other?
Author Bio: J.C. CLIFF is a bestselling author writing in a blend of genres from romantic suspense to dark erotic romance. The main ingredients her novels consist of are unique, original plots full of heat, heart, humor, and suspense. JC Cliff is an independent author who enjoys creating page turning novels from the moment they pick up the book until the second they finish. She loves a good book full of mystery, intrigue, scorching hot romance, and all the elements of suspense.
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Quinn Purchase Links: 
Quinn II Purchase Links:
Link to Quinn Excerpt: bit.ly/QuinnWebsite
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