Aaron’s Cross by Lindsay Cross….Release Day Event

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Aaron’s Honor by Lindsay Cross

A Men of Mercy Novella

Part of Susan Stoker’s Special Forces: Operation Alpha Kindle World

Release Date: July 21, 2016

 

Synopsis

As a Special Forces operative, Aaron Spears treated relationships like Tangos. He’d seen the wreckage of his Task Force brothers’ attempts and had no desire to put any woman through the hardship. He had one purpose – serve his country and protect his teammates. Then Celine Latimer walked into his life and turned his world upside down.

Celine Latimer thought she’d hit the jackpot when hunky SF operative Aaron Spears asked her to accompany him to the high-profile wedding of Senator Cotter’s daughter. They’d get to spend two weeks together while Aaron pulled guard duty for Caroline Cotter and Celine intended to use every spare minute, seducing the man she’d had a crush on for over a year.

The time and place proved to be more of a barrier than either of them realized. With his commander watching his every move, Aaron couldn’t afford to show any weakness. That meant ignoring Celine.

Rejected and hurt, Celine packed to leave only to be caught in a kidnapping plot against the Senator. Here she sat, in a hut in the Middle East, waiting on a rescue that may never come.

He’d sworn to protect and he’d failed. Now Aaron lived for one purpose- to rescue the woman he lost before she’s sold into slavery and spend the rest of his life making her see how much he loves her.

 

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Giveaway

$25 Amazon Gift Card

 

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Susan Stoker’s Kindle World

Join Susan Stoker’s Kindle World – Special Forces Facebook Group:

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About the Author

Lindsay Cross is the award-winning author of the Men of Mercy series. She is the fun loving mom of two beautiful daughters and one precocious Great Dane. Lindsay is happily married to the man of her dreams – a soldier and veteran. During one of her husband’s deployments from home, writing became her escape and motivation.

An avid reader since childhood, reading and writing is in her blood. After years of reading, she discovered her true passion – writing. Her alpha military men are damaged, drop-dead gorgeous and determined to win the heart of the woman of their dreams.

 

Connect with Lindsay

Website: http://www.lindsaycross.com

Facebook Author Page: http://bit.ly/294JQQM

Facebook Group: http://bit.ly/290ByHr

Instagram: http://bit.ly/292V3PR

Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bDbFNb

Twitter: https://twitter.com/lindsaycross101

Goodreads Author Page: http://bit.ly/294JTwb

Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/293aMCR

BookBub Author Page: http://bit.ly/1T8eczc

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Reaper’s Fire by Joanna Wylde…Excerpt Reveal

 

reaper's fire excerpt reveal

reaper's fire

 

 

Excerpt

Tinker

It was almost seven that evening when I felt the AC kick back on. I’d been lying on my back on the (relatively) cool tile floor behind the counter, staring up at the pressed-tin ceiling and trying to remember why I hadn’t already moved back to Seattle.

In Seattle it rained.

Cool breezes blew off the bay and the lush greenery covered everything with its shaded canopy. People didn’t really need air-conditioning, but if they happened to have it and it broke, there were lots of repair men available.

Of course, Seattle also had Brandon. Not only that, my dad didn’t want to move, and I’d come to realize I couldn’t leave him here alone. It wasn’t safe for him, not since Mom died.

Ugh.

At least the AC was working again, blowing down from the ceiling vent across my sweaty body, reminding me that while the world might not be crawling with perfect men, at least there were still a few useful ones running around. Cooper Romero was a keeper, and it had nothing to do with how sexy he was . . . although the fact that he was sex on a stick—make that sex with a stick—didn’t exactly diminish his appeal.

When I’d dragged him up to the black tar roof to show him the ancient AC, I’d expected him to make a run for it. Any sensible man would. Instead, he’d spent the whole afternoon busting his ass to save my chocolates—Oh God, I wish that were code for something more exciting—officially qualifying him as a superhero in my book.

As for me, there wasn’t much I could do once I got all the sweets safely downstairs into the basement. There weren’t any customers walking in off the street, and seeing as I couldn’t make or ship candy in a 102-degree shop, I’d alternated between attempting to read a book, looking over orders I couldn’t fulfill on my laptop, and bringing Cooper glasses of iced tea. I’d been nervous around him at first, but you can only stay nervous for so long when you’re sweating like a pig—there’s a certain freedom in knowing you look like hell and there’s no saving your hair. I’d thrown my arm across my eyes in a pathetic attempt to block out reality toward the end.

When cold air started flowing into the room, I could’ve cried with relief. He’d never had a chance to fill out the application form, and I’d long since decided it didn’t matter. Unless he was an ax murderer, I’d give him the apartment and the job.

Might give it to him even if he was, to be honest.

“It’s working again,” Cooper announced, and I jerked, startled. Shit, had I fallen asleep? Opening my eyes, I looked up to find him standing over me. Dear God in heaven—that was one hell of a bare chest.

Holy. Shit.

I’d taken note of his build when he first walked in the shop, but everything under his shirt had been theoretical. Now there was six-foot-plus of raw sex appeal right there, all sweaty and sculpted and . . . well, let’s just say I’d be stopping off on the way home to pick up some fresh batteries.

That’s when the situation hit me—Cooper Romero was the hottest man I’d met in forever, and he’d just found me lying on the floor in my own sweat and filth like a dog. Typical luck. I scrambled to my feet, pretending I wasn’t totally embarrassed (I was) and not in the least bit freaked out by how unspeakably attractive this guy was. Okay, “attractive” wasn’t quite the right word, because it implied a certain level of polish and class that just didn’t fit Cooper at all.

Brandon was attractive.

Cooper?

I’d lick him all over and massage his butt if he asked. He stared down at me, his eyes carefully blank, making it very clear he wasn’t asking. Story of my fucking life. Sitting up, I pushed myself to my feet without bothering to dust off. Lost cause at this point.

“Not sure how much life the AC has left,” he said slowly. “I managed to get it going, but fixing it right would cost more than it’s worth and then some.”

Of course it would.

“I just need to get through the summer,” I told him, wiping a finger under my eye. My perfectly applied, vintage-style makeup had melted, leaving me with a clown face. Fortunately I’d (mostly) given up on caring three hours ago, right around the time I’d discovered the floor tiles were cooler than the rest of the room. “After that, I’ll worry about the furnace and by next summer I might not even be here anymore.”

“Really?” he asked, cocking a brow. “You selling out?”

“Not sure,” I told him. “I’m not thinking that far ahead right now. Things are very iffy with my dad . . . I think he’s got some—”

No. I couldn’t say it. Saying it out loud made it too real, plus the last thing I needed were a bunch of rumors flying around town. So far we’d kept dad’s situation mostly to family and friends.

“Tinker?”

Shaking myself, I smiled at him. “Thank you so much for fixing that. I’m not even sure what I would’ve done—I can’t afford to miss a week’s worth of orders. Not only would it put me behind, it would burn my customers.”

He nodded, studying me thoughtfully. God, he really was beautiful . . . Nothing like Brandon’s polished sophistication. No, Cooper gave off more of a warrior-tossing-you-over-his-fearless-steed kind of vibe. Yeah, like that would end well, because my track record with men was so fucking perfect, right?

Pull your head out of the gutter. He probably has a girlfriend.

At least I could finally lock up this hellhole of a shop and get a shower.

“Thank you so much—you have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

“No, but the whole throwing yourself at my feet thing was a subtle hint,” he said, and I realized he was teasing me. Was he flirting? I couldn’t decide if that kicked ass or scared the shit out of me.

“Anyway, it’s getting late,” I told him, feeling suddenly awkward. “I’m going to grab some dinner down the street, and then I could take you over and show you the apartment.”

A small, knowing smile crossed his face, and I realized he thought I was hitting on him.

“No,” I said quickly, mortified. “I wasn’t asking you out. Omigod, this is weird.”

“What, you aren’t turned on by a man who smells like old socks?” he asked lightly, raising his arm and giving a sniff. He was joking, but the sweat wasn’t a turnoff. Nope. Not even a little bit. “If that’s not enough for you, the roof tar on my ass should be a big attraction.”

Closing my eyes, I bit back a groan. He started laughing. Not in a cruel way, but companionably, which I guess made sense because both of us were disgusting as hell. Of course, now I wanted to check out his ass, but I managed to keep my eyes on target (mostly) when I answered him.

“Well, it’s sexy but I’ll manage to control myself somehow. I do want to grab dinner, though, and we need to figure out the apartment details.”

“I’ll take the place, doesn’t matter what it is,” he replied. “I’m in a hotel and it’s getting old. I’d love to move in on Sunday, but I can’t go look at it right now—gotta get my ass cleaned up. Meeting up with someone later.”

Of course he was, because men who looked like Cooper didn’t spend Friday nights alone.

“Sounds great,” I told him, refusing to show any disappointment. “Just text me when you’re ready, and I’ll get you the key.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but a sudden pounding against the locked shop door caught us both off guard. I spun around to find Talia Jackson glaring at me through the glass. Talia and three of her skankier friends, including Sadie Baxter, a girl I used to babysit when I was in college.

A girl who was now twenty.

Damn.

“Cooper!” Talia shouted. “What the fuck are you doing?”

I glanced at my new handyman, startled. Talia Jackson and her brother, Marsh, were two of the nastiest people I’d ever met. Marsh was president of the local motorcycle gang, a group called the Nighthawk Raiders motorcycle club. The club had been around most of my life, but it was only in recent years that they’d turned really bad. I mean, they were never the kinder, gentler sort of bikers, but I’d never been actively afraid when I’d heard a motorcycle, either.

Now? Let’s just say we’d all gotten a little edgy.

“That’s my girl,” Cooper said, and something deep down inside of me died a little. Of course he’d go for someone like Talia. She might have the heart of a deranged circus clown—you know, the kind that survives by eating the souls of innocent children—but she was hot.

Really hot.

Not only that, she was slutty, and while I wasn’t into the whole slut-shaming thing (like I had room to judge after the bachelorette party debacle . . . ugh), I wasn’t naive enough to think he was attracted to her personality. Cooper Romero might have a sweet smile, and he’d fixed my AC, but now I had proof positive that he’d never be into a girl like me.

Specifically, a grown-up with curves.

All righty, then. Probably for the best anyway.

“Just a sec!” I called to her, determined to take the high road, then I grabbed my keys so I could open the door. She pushed inside with her posse, and I do mean pushed. Little bitch shoved me so hard I nearly knocked over the display of antique Russian teacups my mother had lovingly collected. (So far as I knew, she’d never sold a single one of them, but it’d made her happy.)

“Careful,” I warned, and Talia turned on me.

“What did you just say to me?”

“Babe, let’s talk,” Cooper said, catching her arm and pulling her into his body. She squealed, going from aggressive to flirty in an instant.

“You’re all sweaty. It’s sooo disgusting.”

I noted she wasn’t trying to get away. Cooper smiled down at her, a hint of something feral in his eyes. Yeah, okay—whatever smile he’d been giving me, it hadn’t held any of that kind of intensity.

Yours truly was officially chopped liver.

“I was just about to head out and grab a shower,” he told her. “Wanna come with me?”

She pouted. “I can’t. The girls and I need to get fixed up. I’ll see you at the bar, though, right?”

He looked down at her, offering a sexy, indulgent smile. “Can’t wait.”

“Perfect,” she said, reaching around to grab his ass for a quick squeeze. Then she turned and strutted back out without a word to me, her gaggle of girls following like well-trained geese. Sadie gave a little finger wave on the way. The door closed behind them with a cheerful little jingle, and I wondered why the hell I even bothered with Hallies Falls.

I missed Seattle.

So what if it had Brandon? I could drown him in Lake Washington. Problem solved.

“Sorry about that—Talia is a little high-strung,” Cooper said.

“Oh, I know all about her,” I replied, hoping I didn’t sound as catty as I felt. Cooper didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m new to town, but she’s been showing me around,” Cooper continued, stepping over to stand in front of me, hands shoved deep in his front pockets. “I should get going.”

“Of course—don’t let me keep you. What time do you think you’ll be in touch tomorrow?”

“Afternoon work?”

“No problem. Looking forward to hearing from you.”

He nodded and pushed through the door, walking down the street without a second look back. I locked up behind him, wondering why all the hottest guys were douchebags. Not that Cooper had acted like a douche, but he had to be my age or older—late thirties—and Talia was the same age as Sadie. She was also a raging bitch. There was only one reason a man like him would date a girl like that, and it had nothing to do with personality or character.

Cooper Romero might be beautiful, but obviously he was shallow. Suppose it was too much to hope for a man who could fix an air conditioner and have a soul at the same time.

Pity.

 

reaper's fire teaser

Are you ready for Gage and Tinker’s story?

Reaper’s Fire releases on August 9th!

Amazon US:  http://amzn.to/1mD6Sma

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1IOuRJI

iBooks: http://apple.co/1JUbzxl

Nook: http://bit.ly/1mzrJaD

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1Uu6bXu

Google Play:  http://bit.ly/1SxRDaQ

 

 

 

Blurb

New York Times bestselling author Joanna Wylde returns to the “wild and raw”* world of the Reapers MC with the story of Gage and Tinker…

The club comes first.

I’ve lived by those words my whole life—assumed I’d die by them, too, and I never had a problem with that. My Reaper brothers took my back and I took theirs and it was enough. Then I met her. Tinker Garrett. She’s beautiful, she’s loyal, and she works so damned hard it scares me sometimes . . . She deserves a good man—one better than me. I can’t take her yet because the club still needs me. There’s another woman, another job, another fight just ahead.

Now she’ll learn I’ve been lying to her all along. None of it’s real. Not my name, not my job, not even the clothes I wear. She thinks I’m nice. She pretends we’re just friends, that I’ve still got a soul . . . Mine’s been dead for years. Now I’m on fire for this woman, and a man can only burn for so long before he destroys everything around him.

I’m coming for you, Tinker.

Soon.

 

 

 

reaper's fire coming soon

 

Have you heard?

Reaper’s Property by Joanna Wylde has a NEW COVER!

reaper's property new cover

Meet Horse & Marie for ONLY $3.99 (normally $7.99)

Author’s Note: This book was originally released through a small publisher in 2013. This independent edition has been lightly edited, and contains a bonus short, “Sticky Sweet” (originally published on the author’s website) and a Q&A with the author.

Amazon US:  http://amzn.to/29FeMde

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2a8RfSt

iBooks:http://apple.co/2a26FZ2

Nook: http://bit.ly/2a26zRw

Kobo:http://bit.ly/29NmSxQ

joanna wylde

 

About the Author

Joanna Wylde is a New York Times bestselling author and creator of the Reapers Motorcycle Club series. She currently lives in Idaho.

Stalk Her: Website | Facebook | TwitterGoodreads

 

The Secret Language of Stones by M.J. Rose…Blog Tour Stop & Review

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02_The Secret Language of Stones

The Secret Language of Stones
by M.J. Rose

Publication Date: July 19, 2016
Atria Books
Hardcover & eBook; 320 Pages

Series: The Daughters of La Lune, Book Two
Genre: Historical Fiction/Fantasy

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Synopsis:

As World War I rages and the Romanov dynasty reaches its sudden, brutal end, a young jewelry maker discovers love, passion, and her own healing powers in this rich and romantic ghost story, the perfect follow-up to M.J. Rose’s “brilliantly crafted” (Providence Journal) novel The Witch of Painted Sorrows.

Nestled within Paris’s historic Palais Royal is a jewelry store unlike any other. La Fantasie Russie is owned by Pavel Orloff, protÈgÈ to the famous Faberge, and is known by the city’s fashion elite as the place to find the rarest of gemstones and the most unique designs. But war has transformed Paris from a city of style and romance to a place of fear and mourning. In the summer of 1918, places where lovers used to walk, widows now wander alone.

So it is from La Fantasie Russie’s workshop that young, ambitious Opaline Duplessi now spends her time making trench watches for soldiers at the front, as well as mourning jewelry for the mothers, wives, and lovers of those who have fallen. People say that Opaline’s creations are magical. But magic is a word Opaline would rather not use. The concept is too closely associated with her mother Sandrine, who practices the dark arts passed down from their ancestor La Lune, one of sixteenth century Paris’s most famous courtesans.

But Opaline does have a rare gift even she can’t deny, a form of lithomancy that allows her to translate the energy emanating from stones. Certain gemstones, combined with a personal item, such as a lock of hair, enable her to receive messages from beyond the grave. In her mind, she is no mystic, but merely a messenger, giving voice to soldiers who died before they were able to properly express themselves to loved ones. Until one day, one of these fallen soldiers communicates a message directly to her.

So begins a dangerous journey that will take Opaline into the darkest corners of wartime Paris and across the English Channel, where the exiled Romanov dowager empress is waiting to discover the fate of her family. Full of romance, seduction, and a love so powerful it reaches beyond the grave, The Secret Language of Stones is yet another “spellbindingly haunting” (Suspense magazine), “entrancing read that will long be savored” (Library Journal, starred review).

 

My Review:

The Secret Language of Stones is the second book in author M.J. Rose’s phenomenal The Daughter’s of La Lune series and after falling in love with the first book, I was eager to read this next installment.  It’s at this point I tell you how difficult it’s going to be for me to adequately put into words just how much I loved this book and how deeply the story affected me.  It was beyond anything I could imagine and holds a spot as one of my top five favorite reads ever.

Opaline’s journey was so incredibly touching and emotional from the very start.  She’s a young woman born into a witch’s bloodline, gifted with the ability to speak to the fallen through gemstones.  She has learned the art of jewelry making and has an admirable desire to help with the ongoing war by making the soldier’s watches suitable for the battlefield. It’s when doing that work that she learns to use her abilities to read stones to bring grieving mothers or wives or sisters some measure of peace and closure by making a talisman for the grieving family member.  Where Opaline can speak one last time to the soldier who has passed on and deliver a final message.

It’s in doing that work where she crosses otherworldly paths with a soldier named Jean Luc.  It’s at that moment Opaline’s life changes forever.  It’s at that moment that this book went from an engaging read to an all-consuming one I simply could not put down.

Jean Luc had been a journalist before leaving for war and Opaline, along with having private spoken moments with his spirit, reads the weekly columns he wrote.  We got to read them along side her and I cannot tell you just how achingly beautiful he wrote and how tender his words were.  His entries are written to a fictitious love and he asks her to visit certain places and think of him.  When Opaline goes to those sentimental locations it drew so many emotions from me.  I was desperate for there to be some way for these two people to be together.  I cried a lot of tears just basking in the words they shared and the moments they spent together, yet apart. I have to say, that measure of not knowing how there could possibly be a way for their relationship to work, but hoping beyond hope that there was, made this even more of an all-consuming read for me.  Their interactions were so beautiful and touching but also laced with a bit of pain and sorrow.  Now, I won’t ruin anything for you, but I will give you a bit of a hint and let you know that I don’t review a book that ends badly so while you will need a box of tissues to get through more than a few parts of this book, you will not be disappointed.

Of course, peppered in with the incredible budding relationship between Jean Luc and Opaline there are possible spies, family duplicity, and a search for hope within the Romanov dynasty.  All of that added a wonderful and suspenseful layer to this story that I really enjoyed.

It would be remiss of me to end this review without paying respect to the immense talent Ms. Rose is.  I read a lot of books in many different genres and in many different styles.  I know that when I sit down with a book written by Ms. Rose it will be an experience, not just a book.  I know I will feel what the characters feel, experience all of the sounds, tastes, and smells through the lush and rich descriptions in her writing.  It is truly a gift and one I am so thankful Ms. Rose shares with us.

Thank you, Ms. Rose, for another stellar read. I will continue to look forward to more from The Sisters of La Lune and all the magic they share with us.

5LovesRLB

Five Loves

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A spellbinding ghost story that communicates the power of love and redemption through Rose’s extraordinary, magical lens.”  (Alyson Richman, internationally bestselling author of The Lost Wife)

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Books-a-Million | IndieBound

 

 

About the Author03_M.J. Rose Author

M.J. Rose grew up in New York City mostly in the labyrinthine galleries of the Metropolitan Museum, the dark tunnels and lush gardens of Central Park and reading her mother’s favorite books before she was allowed.

She is the author of more than a dozen novels, the co-president and founding board member of International Thriller Writers and the founder of the first marketing company for authors: AuthorBuzz.com. She lives in Greenwich, Connecticut. Visit her online at MJRose.com.

Connect with M.J. Rose on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Goodreads.

Sign up for M.J. Roseís newsletter and get information about new releases, free book downloads, contests, excerpts and more.

Blog Tour Schedule

Tuesday, July 12
Review at The Lit Bitch
Review at The Mad Reviewer
Review at Peeking Between the Pages

Wednesday, July 13
Spotlight at Passages to the Past

Thursday, July 14
Spotlight at Teddy Rose Book Reviews

Friday, July 15
Review at A Dream within a Dream

Monday, July 18
Review at Oh, for the Hook of a Book!

Tuesday, July 19
Review at First Impressions Reviews

Wednesday, July 20
Review at Laura’s Interests

Thursday, July 21
Review at Read Love Blog

Friday, July 22
Review at Nerd in New York
Spotlight at I Heart Reading

Monday, July 25
Review at Broken Teepee
Spotlight at Let Them Read Books

Tuesday, July 26
Review at Historical Fiction Obsession

Wednesday, July 27
Interview at First Impressions Reviews

Thursday, July 28
Review at Creating Herstory

Friday, July 29
Review at Beth’s Book Nook Blog

Monday, August 1
Review at The Book Junkie Reads

Tuesday, August 2
Interview at The Book Junkie Reads

Wednesday, August 3
Review at Diana’s Book Reviews

Thursday, August 4
Interview at Diana’s Book Reviews

Friday,August 5
Review at A Chick Who Reads
Spotlight at What Is That Book About

Monday, August 8
Review at So Many Books, So Little Time

Tuesday, August 9
Review at Worth Getting in Bed For

Wednesday, August 10
Review at Jorie Loves a Story
Review at CelticLady’s Reviews

Thursday, August 11
Review at Girls Just Reading

Friday, August 12
Review at Dianne Ascroft’s Blog

Monday, August 15
Review at Fangirls Ahead!

Tuesday, August 16
Review at Book Lovers Paradise
Review at The True Book Addict

 

Whiskey & Honey by Andrea Johnston…Release Day Blitz & Review

Title: Whiskey & Honey
Series: Country Road #1
Author: Andrea Johnston
Release Date: July 21, 2016
Guys have rules. Rule #1: You don’t date your sister’s best friend.
Bentley Sullivan hasn’t found the one. He’s always been the good guy – the gentleman. With one quick, and possibly irrational, decision everything changes. After a case of mistaken identity and a drunken kiss, Ben is convinced that the one is finally right in front of him. Only, she’s untouchable.
Girls have rules. Rule #1: You don’t date your best friend’s brother.
Piper Lawrence has not been successful in love. Almost as quickly as she swears off men, he comes into her life. Her childhood crush and the man who has set the standards for every man she’s ever dated, he is also the one man she can’t have.
A single kiss changes it all.
On sale for $0.99 for a limited time!
 review

Whiskey & Honey is the first book I’ve read by Andrew Johnston.  It’s a very sweet and easy read.

I enjoyed everything about this book.  The family, friends and camaraderie between everyone makes you smile big time.  It’s heart-warming story.

Ben moved away after high school when he started college and never came back except to visit here and there.  Ashton, Ben’s sister is best friends with Piper.  They’re like sisters.  So they all grew up together along with a few other close friends of Ben’s.

Whiskey & Honey is Ben and Piper’s story.  I won’t go into details about how everything comes together and works out.  Piper isn’t a very confident woman and Ben has always been her childhood crush.  Andrea stays true to the characters and their reactions to things.  And that’s what makes these characters very relatable and likeable. 

Andrea definitely ties everything together with the other characters who will find yourself wondering about.  I am hoping we get to read about more of these characters in future books down the road.

Overall, a beautiful and heartwarming read that is perfect to soothe your soul and make you grin like a love-sick puppy.

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Chapter 1
Ben
I felt it deep in my bones the minute she walked through the door.
What “it” is, I’m not quite sure. When the door opened I felt a shift in the atmosphere. As if someone lit a fire that burned only in my soul. My attention caught, I was bamboozled. This girl, no more than five feet tall, managed to drown out the sounds around me without even noticing I was in the same establishment.
Handling the large wooden door of Country Road as if it weighed no more than a feather, she seemed both determined and frightened as she walked through. Tossing her hair, the color of the most violent fire, over her shoulder, straightening her back and tilting her chin up in determination, I enjoyed the view as her hips swayed in perfect tempo to the drum solo coming from the speakers and she walked across the room. The way her jeans complement every curve, she not only has my mouth feeling like the Sahara Desert but my dick has suddenly awoken from its recent hibernation.
It isn’t either of those things that have me ignoring my friends though. No, it’s something about the fierce way she has made her entrance yet not made eye contact or smiled at a single person as she made her way to the bar. Even from here, without so much as speaking a word, I can tell that she is something special. A woman made up of layers and layers of intrigue. Someone who I have to know.
“Dude, are you even listening?”
“I don’t think he’s heard a single word any of us said since she walked in. His dick is obviously in charge tonight.”
I hear those assholes; I just don’t have anything to contribute to whatever debate they’re having. Besides, Owen is right. Somehow my normal level-headed self seems to have left the room and my previously mentioned dick is in charge tonight.
All of our lives I’ve been the logical and straight-laced one in this group. Suddenly a sassy redhead has taken all of my logic and tossed it aside. I’m acting like a pubescent teen. The problem is, I’m quite a few years from being a teen, and even when I was, I never had this reaction to a woman.
Nope. I, Bentley James Sullivan, am the good guy. The guy who approaches life with a plan and never does a single thing without one. Hell, I even plan spontaneity. Yeah, I teeter on the edge of boring.
I take another drink of my beer as I turn to Owen. “Kiss my ass. I heard you, and for your information, Iron Man always wins.”
Without a second thought I return my attention to the beauty who has garnered all of my interest. She’s made her way to a stool at the bar and is waiving her arms around as if she’s the conductor of an orchestra. I can tell from the expression of the bartender, also my sister Ashton, that whoever has her this fired up should stay clear of her.
The only time her hands still is when she grabs the shot glass my sister has placed in front of her. From where I’m sitting I can see that she doesn’t even shudder as she takes the shot of dark and beautiful whiskey. I don’t care what anyone says, there’s something fascinating about a woman who drinks whiskey. Just the thought makes me smile.
“Why don’t you just go over and talk to her, Ben?”
I shoot a look at Jameson over my beer bottle as I drain it. My best friend since, well forever, he knows I’m not the “hook up in a bar” kind of guy. But, I won’t deny this girl has sparked a little something. Something familiar tugs at me, but I can’t place it.
“Nah, I’ll pass,” I say unconvincingly. I really want to go over to this girl and tell her the fucker who made her this upset isn’t worth it.
I’m not psychic, but honestly what else could have her this upset?
The reality is, guys are dicks and the only person who could make a woman this upset.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re not all assholes, but the reality of it all is we screw up.
All the fucking time.
I sit here with three variations of the asshole to good guy makeup in front of me. The four of us have been best friends since high school, more like brothers than anything else. When I accepted a college scholarship that took me more than three hundred miles away from home, I assumed we’d grow apart, that I would grow apart from the four of them. I was wrong.
Owen Butler and Landon Montgomery are two of the coolest and most loyal friends a guy could ask for. We’ve had each other’s backs through a lot of dumb shit, and not only managed to stay friends but we’ve never screwed each other over either.
Jameson Strauss is like a brother to me. When we were kids we were convinced we were some sort of dynamic duo considering my middle name was close to his first name. Only the reality is that my middle name is a family name and he was named after his dad’s favorite whiskey. Regardless, we didn’t care and thought it made us pretty bad ass.
Jameson is the best person I know and gives to others without a second thought. I would trust him with my life. Of course, he’s also a bit of a slut and has probably screwed half the women in this town, but he’s not a bad guy. Sure, a few have declared their undying love and begged him to do the same. For the most part he’s managed to come out of each encounter unscathed and unattached.
Then there’s me. The relationship guy. I’ve had two girlfriends in my twenty-nine years. Well, two real girlfriends. Stolen kisses on the playground and the occasional hand-holding in middle school don’t count.
“Ben, why are you staring at…”
Before Owen can finish his sentence, Jameson spills his beer.
“What’s your problem, J? That was a rookie move,” Landon says as he starts wiping at the spilled beer with his hand.
“Sorry, I thought there was a bee or something. I just jumped.”
All three of us look at Jameson like he’s crazy. Unfazed by our confusion, he signals for a waitress to come over to our table with a towel.
“Hey, Beth, sorry about the mess,” Jameson says, offering this poor girl a smile that is a little predatory. I can tell from her reaction to him that there’s a little history there but not in a bad way.
“Beth, this is Ben. Ben, this is Beth.”
“Hey there, Ben. You look familiar, have I served you before?”
“Nah, Bethy, Ben’s been gone from home for a hundred years. I think the last time he was in here we had fake IDs. He probably looks familiar because he’s Ashton’s brother.”
Bethy? Good God, he’s laying it on thick.
“Oh, Bentley. Ashton was just telling me that you were moving back. Does she know you’re here? You should go say hi to her; she’s just at the bar talking to…”
“So anyway, thanks for cleaning up. Looks like you’re busy. We don’t want to keep you.”
This poor girl, Jameson doesn’t even let her finish a sentence before he’s sending her off.
“Hey, Ben, why don’t you just take that twenty and go grab us another round? I’ve got a little spill here in my lap or I’d do it myself.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I grab the money and head to the bar. I already know I’m screwed.
Andrea Johnston spent her childhood with her nose in a book and a pen to paper. An avid people watcher, her mind is full of stories that yearn to be told.  A fan of angsty romance with a happy ending, super sexy erotica and a good mystery, Andrea can always be found with her Kindle nearby fully charged.
Andrea lives in Idaho with her family and two dogs.  When she isn’t spending time with her partner in crime aka her husband, she can be found binge watching all things Bravo and enjoying a cocktail. Nothing makes her happier than the laughter of her children, a good book, her feet in the water, and cocktail in hand all at the same time.

 

Ultimate Courage by Piper J. Drake…Excerpt Reveal

UltimateCourage_bannerexcerpt

Book_2_UltimateCourage

ULTIMATE COURAGE by Piper J. Drake

Hot military heroes, the women who love them, and the devoted dogs that always have their backs. ULTIMATE COURAGE is the second book in a high adrenaline contemporary suspense series from Piper J. Drake published by Forever Romance. Fans of D.D. Ayres K-9 Rescue series and Cindy Gerard’s One Eyed Jacks, will love this action packed romantic suspense series.

Title: Ultimate Courage

Author: Piper J. Drake

Series: True Heroes #2

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Release Date: July 26, 2016

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing- Forever

Print Length:  336 pages

Format: Digital and Mass Market Paperback

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Synopsis:

Elisa Hall is good at starting from scratch. Leaving an abusive relationship in her rearview, she packs everything she owns into the trunk of her car and heads for refuge with her friend in Hope’s Crossing, North Carolina.

Alex Rojas returned from his second deployment as a Navy SEAL to find his condo empty and divorce papers on the breakfast table. Now he’s building a life for himself and his daughter at Hope’s Crossing kennels training younger dogs and handlers to search and rescue, struggling to adjust to life back in the States and as a single father.

When Elisa shows up at the kennels, it’s obvious she’s running from something. Luckily, the dogs and trainers at Hope’s Crossing are more than capable of warding off trouble. And with every minute he spends with Elisa, Alex becomes even more and more determined to protect the woman he’s certain he won’t be able to live without…

Get More information at: Goodreads  | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

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Also in this series:

Extreme Honor: Goodreads  | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

 

EXCERPT:

Beautiful blue-gray eyes met his briefly before the woman dropped her own gaze to focus on someplace lower on his face, like his nose or mouth. Subtle. Most people would probably not even notice the way she avoided direct eye contact.

But then again, not many people made eye contact a challenge the way he and his colleagues did. It wasn’t on purpose, really; more of a common quirk in their personalities.

Funny, he hadn’t expected to see her again. Okay, maybe he’d been hoping to find her at Revolution MMA for those self-defense classes he’d recommended. But here she was. A weird tingle jolted through his chest.

This woman was about as non-aggressive as possible without cowering outright. Despite her upright posture, her hands hung at her sides in a loose, non-defensive position. Her left wrist was covered in a brace and it was easy to see she held something in her right hand. She was far enough back on the landing to easily drop down a step or two without having to back up more than a few inches.

But the mannerisms didn’t fit her energy, the straightness of her shoulders, or the set of her jaw. Whoever this woman was, she’d developed habits. She wasn’t a mouse by nature. He wouldn’t be as irritated to see these behaviors if these things came naturally to her.

Who had forced her to assume those mannerisms to survive?

“Mr. Rojas.” Her voice was steady.

Another sign of her being more than what she seemed, as far as he was concerned. The timbre was almost soothing, and he realized he’d balled his hands into fists. Well, shit. He let his hands loosen.

She presented the object she held in her right hand. “I think your daughter left this behind at the ER last night. I hope you don’t mind, but the logo for the kennels was on the inside label, so I googled the address.”

Slowly—because he didn’t want her to snatch her hand back—he took the glove from her. “Thanks.”

“The hospital lost and found was overflowing, and I wanted to make sure Boom got her glove back,” the woman continued, then bit her lip. “And I wanted to be sure to thank you.” Her cheeks took on a fascinating pale pink blush.

Caught by surprise, Rojas raised his eyebrows. “Me?”

Maybe his tone had been the right encouragement, because she looked up again, her gaze meeting his, and the chemistry shocked him right down to his toes, hitting every vital organ—including his balls—along the way.

Blue-gray, cool as a calm day out on the water, her gaze held his. “You were very kind last night, and I didn’t thank you then. I try to thank the kind people I meet. So thank you.”

Rojas cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”

He didn’t know what else to say. He’d only given her some ice, a cup of coffee, and a card about the martial arts center. Boom had a good sense for people, and when she’d said the woman needed the referral for the self-defense classes, he’d been inclined to agree.

She broke their eye contact, and he felt the loss as if someone had broken the circuit on an electrical current. “I should be going now.”

“Wait.” He didn’t know what made him ask her to. But she paused, balanced on the balls of her feet at the edge of the landing. He was sure if he didn’t catch her now she’d be gone for good. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Oh.” She turned to face him. Another sign that she’d learned caution but she wasn’t afraid by nature. She was open. A people person. Or at least more of one than he was. “Elisa Hall.”

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About Piper J. Drake:

Piper_Drake_authorPiper J. Drake (or “PJ”) began her writing career as “PJ Schnyder” writing sci-fi & paranormal romance and steampunk. She has recently received the FF&P PRISM award for her work as well as the NJRW Golden Leaf award and Parsec award.

Now, PJ is exploring the complexity of romantic suspense, incorporating her interests in mixed martial arts and the military into her writing.

Connect with Piper at: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Google + | GoodReads| Youtube

 

Blind Landing by Carrie Aarons….Cover Reveal

Today, we have the gorgeous cover for Carrie Aarons Blind Landing. Check it out and add it to your to-read list today!

 

Title: Blind Landing

Author: Carrie Aarons

Release Date: August 4th 2016

Genre: Sports Romance

BL Amazon

About Blind Landing:

Fear stops dreams in their tracks before they even have a chance. Then again, so do injuries.

Natalia Grekov was born to win Olympic gold. As the USA’s top gymnast, she’s calm, confident and ready to make her country proud in just two short months. And her elite athlete lifestyle includes no time for distractions—especially men. When a disastrous fall in practice puts her dreams at risk, it seems the only person who can help her is the one person she wants nothing from.

Spencer Russell is gymnastics’ bad boy. A cocky, laid-back charmer with abs of steel and a witty mouth, he waltzes around the U.S. Gymnastics Training Camp like he owns the place—even though he doesn’t anymore. After an injury sidelined his career and any chance at Olympic glory, he’s now just a coach, helping other gymnasts reach their goals. Serious is not a word in Spencer’s vocabulary. But when Natalia tumbles into his life, he’s suddenly sincerely interested in helping the blonde beauty in any way he can.

Can they vault over the obstacles standing in their way? Or will Spencer be the distraction that causes Natalia’s chance at gold to crash and burn?

Add on Goodreads

 

Exclusive Excerpt:

Gerek claps again and I look over in his direction. “Thank you for being able to join us this morning, Spencer.”

Turning towards the gym’s front doors, I watch Spence. It’s still strange, rolling his shortened nickname around in my mouth, but he insisted I call him that after I told him to call me Nat, so here we are. He strolls in, clad in his typical wardrobe of sandals and workout shorts.

And nothing else.

Jesus, he’s sexy. With all of those carved-out-of-stone muscles and short brown buzz cut, it’s like he should be in a Marines uniform instead of a chalk covered training center. He looks like he just rolled out of bed three seconds ago, and I squirm in my split. Which only adds to my building frustration as the carpet and my leotard create friction below my waistline.

“Oh, no problem, boss. Anything for you guys.” He gives a lopsided grin and jumps onto a stack of mats, lounging with one elbow propping him up. It’s as if he’s posing for a non-existent camera, like he’s the star model for a shoot in Gymnastics Monthly.

Actually, I think he did have a five-page spread a couple years back and I have it somewhere in my desk at home.

“Grace, Julia, Natalia, Peyton, Quinn and Lila … you are headed to the bars gym for the first part of practice today. Spencer, Anka and I will be assessing the men on pommel horse for the first part of the day, so you will be helping with the girl’s bar workout.”

My stomach flips. Bars is my best event, I’m not nervous about that. I could do my routine, which is one of the hardest of anyone at Sikora’s, in my sleep.

But having Spence watching me with those clover green eyes? Tracking my body as it spins and flies through the air? It makes the butterflies in my stomach explode.

I know he likes me, genuinely likes me. I know because he told me. And I genuinely like him too. We also find each other hot, or else we wouldn’t have gotten naked together in the Atlantic Ocean last night. That’s obvious.

But I don’t do boyfriends. Especially not boyfriends who are gymnasts. And don’t even get me started on the gymnast turned coach thing. Even if he isn’t my coach. Point is, I don’t even do hookups. Sure, I have in the past, but most of the time I find that the sex isn’t worth it and things just get awkward. Most would call me more adult than my years in this thought-process, but being an elite athlete means having to grow up fast. My biography might read nineteen, but I’ve been told I have the maturity and life view of a thirty-year-old. Talk about being jaded.

The whole relationship thing, no matter what form it’s in, is just too messy. And as much as I hate the Sikora’s and everything they stand for, I need to focus to achieve my goals. I’m not here to fulfill anyone else’s dreams, just my own.

I don’t have time for Spencer Russell. And what’s more, I have a feeling Spencer Russell does not have time, or serious interest, for me either.

Spence salutes Anka and Gerek, taunting them and crossing the line just a little further than anyone would dare where they’re concerned.

Then he turns to our group. “Alright ladies, let’s get moving. Someone remind me again, what’s this low bar for?”

The rest of our group giggles and bats their eyes at Spencer, but I just roll mine. His humor about the difference between the men’s high bar and the women’s uneven bars is the oldest joke in the book.

“Why don’t you watch and learn? We’ll show you what real gymnastics looks like.”

I skirt past him, pulling my gym bag over my shoulder as I exit the building and head to one of the countless warehouse buildings on the grounds that houses all of the bar equipment. The rest of the girls push their way in after me, a sea of brightly colored leotards, bare legs and ponytails.

 

About Carrie Aarons:

Author of romance novels such as Red Card and the Captive Heart Duet, Carrie Aarons writes sexy, swoony and sarcastic characters who won’t get out of her head until she puts them down on a page.

Carrie has wanted to be an author since the first time she opened a book. She loves spinning tales that include dapper men, women with attitude, and the occasional hunky athlete.

When she isn’t in what her husband calls a “writing coma”, Carrie is freeing up her jam-packed DVR, starting her latest DIY project, or planning her next travel adventure. She lives in New Jersey with her husband, who is more than happy to watch sports while his wife plots love stories.

 

Facebook: www.facebook.com/carrieaarons

  • Twitter: www.twitter.com/authorcarriea
  • Website: www.carrieaarons.com
  • Amazon: http://amzn.to/1USXnLP
  • Goodreads: http://bit.ly/1N7Ye99
  • Street Team: on.fb.me/1PGNDPG

 

Enter Carrie’s Giveaway:

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The Secret Language of Stones by M.J. Rose…Special Excerpt

02_The Secret Language of Stones

Synopsis:

 As World War I rages and the Romanov dynasty reaches its sudden, brutal end, a young jewelry maker discovers love, passion, and her own healing powers in this rich and romantic ghost story, the perfect follow-up to M.J. Roseís ìbrilliantly craftedî (Providence Journal) novel The Witch of Painted Sorrows.

Nestled within Parisís historic Palais Royal is a jewelry store unlike any other. La Fantasie Russie is owned by Pavel Orloff, protÈgÈ to the famous Faberge, and is known by the cityís fashion elite as the place to find the rarest of gemstones and the most unique designs. But war has transformed Paris from a city of style and romance to a place of fear and mourning. In the summer of 1918, places where lovers used to walk, widows now wander alone.

So it is from La Fantasie Russieís workshop that young, ambitious Opaline Duplessi now spends her time making trench watches for soldiers at the front, as well as mourning jewelry for the mothers, wives, and lovers of those who have fallen. People say that Opalineís creations are magical. But magic is a word Opaline would rather not use. The concept is too closely associated with her mother Sandrine, who practices the dark arts passed down from their ancestor La Lune, one of sixteenth century Parisís most famous courtesans.

But Opaline does have a rare gift even she canít deny, a form of lithomancy that allows her to translate the energy emanating from stones. Certain gemstones, combined with a personal item, such as a lock of hair, enable her to receive messages from beyond the grave. In her mind, she is no mystic, but merely a messenger, giving voice to soldiers who died before they were able to properly express themselves to loved ones. Until one day, one of these fallen soldiers communicates a messageódirectly to her.

So begins a dangerous journey that will take Opaline into the darkest corners of wartime Paris and across the English Channel, where the exiled Romanov dowager empress is waiting to discover the fate of her family. Full of romance, seduction, and a love so powerful it reaches beyond the grave, The Secret Language of Stones is yet another ìspellbindingly hauntingî (Suspense magazine), ìentrancing read that will long be savoredî (Library Journal, starred review).

 

Excerpt:

Chapter 1

July 19, 1918

“Are you Opaline?” the woman asked before she even stepped all the way into the workshop. From the anxious and distraught tone of her voice, I guessed she hadn’t come to talk about commissioning a bracelet for her aunt or having her daughter’s pearls restrung.

Though not a soldier, this woman was one of the Great War’s wounded, here to engage in the dark arts in the hopes of finding sol- ace. Was it her son or her brother, husband, or lover’s fate that drove her to seek me out?

France had lost more than one million men, and there were battles yet to be fought. We’d suffered the second largest loss of any country in any war in history. No one in Paris remained untouched by tragedy.

What a terrible four years we’d endured. The Germans had placed La Grosse Bertha, a huge cannon, on the border between Picardy and Champagne. More powerful than any weapon ever built, she proved able to send shells 120 kilometers and reach us in Paris.

Since the war began, Bertha had shot more than 325 shells into our city. By the summer of 1918, two hundred civilians had died, and almost a thousand more were hurt. We lived in a state of anticipation and readiness. We were on the front too, as much at risk as our soldiers.

The last four months had been devastating. On March 11, the Vincennes Cemetery in the eastern inner suburbs was hit and hun- dreds of families lost their dead all over again when marble tombs and granite gravestones shattered. Bombs continued falling into the night. Buildings all over the city were demolished; craters appeared in the streets.

Three weeks later, more devastation. The worst Paris had suf- fered yet. On Good Friday, during a mass at the Saint-Gervais and Saint-Protais Church, a shell hit and the whole roof collapsed on the congregation. Eighty-eight people were killed; another sixty- eight were wounded. And all over Paris many, many more suffered psychological damage. We became more worried, ever more af raid. What was next? When would it happen? We couldn’t know. All we could do was wait.

In April there were more shellings. And again in May. One hit a hotel in the 13th arrondissement, and because Bertha’s visits were silent, without warning, sleeping guests were killed in their beds.

By the middle of July, there was still no end in sight.

That warm afternoon, while the rain drizzled down, I steeled myself for the expression of grief to match what I’d heard in the customer’s voice. I shut off my soldering machine and put my work aside before I looked up.

Turning soldiers’ wristwatches into trench watches is how I have been contributing to the war effort since arriving in Paris three years ago. History repeats itself, they say, and in my case it’s true. In

1894, my mother ran away from her first husband in New York City and came to Paris. And twenty-one years later, I ran away from my mother in Cannes and came to Paris.

In trying to protect me from the encroaching war and to distract me from the malaise I’d been suffering since my closest friend had been killed, my parents decided to send me to America. No amount of protest, tantrums, bargaining, or begging would change their minds. They were shipping me off to live with family in Boston and to study at Radcliffe, where my uncle taught history.

At ten AM on Wednesday, February 11, 1915 my parents and I arrived at the dock in Cherbourg. French ocean liners had all been acquisitioned for the war, so I was booked on the USMS New York to travel across the sea. A frenetic scene greeted me. Most of the travelers were leaving France out of fear, and the atmosphere was thick with sadness and worry. Faces were drawn, eyes red with crying, as we pre- pared to board the big hulking ship waiting to transport us away from the terrible war that claimed more and more lives every day.

While my father arranged for a porter to carry my trunk, my mother handed me a last-minute gift, a book from the feel of it, then took me in her arms to kiss me good-bye. I breathed in her familiar scent, knowing it might be a long time until I smelled that particular mixture of L’Etoile’s Rouge perfume and the Roger et Gallet poudre de riz she always used to dust her face and décolletage. As she held me and pressed her crimson-stained lips to my cheek, I reached up behind her and carefully unhooked one of the half dozen ropes of cabochon ruby beads slung around her neck.

I let the necklace slip inside my glove, the stones warm as they slid down and settled into my cupped palm.

My mother often told me the story about how, in Paris in 1894, soon after she’d arrived and they’d met, my father helped her secretly pawn some of her grandmother’s treasures to buy art supplies so she could attend École des Beaux-Arts.

Knowing I too might need extra money, I decided to avail my- self of some insurance. My mother owned so many strands of those blood-red beads, certainly my transgression would go unnoticed for a long time.

Disentangling herself, my mother dabbed at her eyes with a black handkerchief trimmed in red lace. Like the rubies she always wore, her handkerchiefs were one of her trademarks. Her many eccentricities exacerbated the legends swirling around “La Belle Lune,” as the press called her.

Mon chou, I will miss you. Write often and don’t get into trouble. It’s one thing to break my rules, but listen to your aunt Laura. All right?”

When my father’s turn came, he took me in his arms and exacted another kind of promise. “You will stay safe, yes?” He let go, but only for a moment before pulling me back to plant another kiss on the top of my head and add a coda to his good-bye. “Stay safe,” he repeated, “and please, forgive yourself for what happened with Timur. You couldn’t know what the future would bring. Enjoy your adventure, chérie.”

I nodded as tears tickled my eyes. Always sensitive to me, my father knew how much my guilt weighed on me. My charming and handsome papa always found just the right words to say to me to make me feel special. I didn’t care that I was about to deceive my mother, but I hated that I was going to disappoint my father.

During the winters of 1913 and 1914, my parents’ friends’ son Timur Orloff lived with us in Cannes. He ran a small boutique inside the Carlton Hotel, where, in high season, the hotel rented out space to a select few high-end retailers in order to cater to the celebrities, royalty, and nobility who flocked to the Riviera.

Our families first met when Anna Orloff bought one of my mother’s paintings, and Monsieur Orloff hired my father to design his jewelry store in Paris. A friendship developed that eventually led to my parents offering to house Timur. We quickly became the best of friends, sharing a passion for art and a love of design.

Creating jewelry had been my obsession ever since I’d found my first piece of emerald sea glass at the beach and tried to use string and glue to fashion it into a ring. My father declared jewelry design the perfect profession for the child of a painter and an architect—an ideal way to marry the sense of color and light I’d inherited from my mother and the ability to visualize and design in three dimensions that I’d inherited from him.

My mother was disappointed I wasn’t following in her footsteps and studying painting but agreed jewelry design offered a fine alter- native. I knew my choice appealed to the rebel in her. The field hadn’t yet welcomed women, and my mother, who had broken down quite a few barriers as a female artist and eschewed convention as much as plain white handkerchiefs, was pleased that, like her, I would be challenging the status quo.

When I’d graduated lycée, I convinced my parents to let me ap- prentice with a local jeweler, and Timur often stopped by Roucher’s shop at the end of the day to collect me and walk me home.

Given our ages, his twenty to my seventeen, it wasn’t surprising our closeness turned physical, and we spent many hours hiding in the shadows of the rocks on the beach as twilight deepened, kissing and exploring each other’s body. The heady intimacy was exciting. The passion, transforming. My sense of taste became exaggerated. My sense of smell became more attenuated. The stones I worked with in the shop began to shimmer with a deeper intensity, and my ability to hear their music became fine-tuned.

The changes were as frightening as they were exhilarating. As the passions increased my powers, I worried I was becoming like my mother. And yet my fear didn’t make me turn from Timur. The plea- sure was too great. My attraction was fueled by curiosity rather than love. Not so for him. And even though I knew Timur was a romantic, I never guessed at the depths of what he felt.

War broke out during the summer of 1914, and in October, Timur wrote he was leaving for the front to fight for France. Just two weeks after he’d left, I received a poetic letter filled with longing.

Dearest Opaline,

We never talked about what we mean to each other before I left and I find myself in this miserable place, with so little comfort and so much uncertainty. Not the least of which is how you feel about me. I close my eyes and you are there. I think of the past two years and all my important memories include y I imagine tomorrow’s memories and want to share those with you as well. Here where it’s bleak and barren, thoughts of you keep my heart warm. Do you love me the way I love you? No, I don’t think so, not yet . . . but might you? All I ask is please, don’t fall in love with anyone else while I am gone. Tell me you will wait for me, at least just to give me a chance?

I’d been made uncomfortable by his admission. Handsome and talented, he’d treated me as if I were one of the fine gems he sold. I’d enjoyed his attention and affection, but I didn’t think I was in love. Not the way I imagined love.

And so I wrote a flippant response. Teasing him the way I always did, I accused him of allowing the war to turn him into even more of a romantic. I shouldn’t have. Instead, I should have given him the promise he asked for. Once he came back, I could have set him straight. Then at least, while he remained away, he would have had hope.

Instead, he’d died with only my mockery ringing in his head.

My father was right: I couldn’t have known the future. But I still couldn’t excuse myself for my thoughtless past.

The USMS New York’s sonorous horn blasted three times, and all around us people said their last good-byes. Reluctantly, my father let go of me.

“I’d like you to leave once I’m on board,” I told my parents. “Oth- erwise, I’ll stand there watching you and I’ll start to cry.”

“Agreed,” my father said. “It would be too hard for us as well.” Once I’d walked up the gangplank and joined the other pas-

sengers at the railing, I searched the crowd, found my parents, and waved.

My mother fluttered her handkerchief. My father blew me a kiss. Then, as promised, they turned and began to walk away. The moment their backs were to me, I ran from the railing, found a porter, pressed some francs into his hand, and asked him to take my luggage from the hold and see me to a taxi.

I would not be sailing to America. I was traveling on a train to Paris. Once ensconced in the cab, I told the driver to transport me to the station. After maneuvering out of the parking space, he joined the crush of cars leaving the port. Moving at a snail’s pace, we drove right past my parents, who were strolling back to the hotel where we’d stayed the night before.

Sliding down in my seat, I hoped they wouldn’t see me, but I’d underestimated my mother’s keen eye.

“Opaline? Opaline?”

Hearing her shout, I rose and peeked out the window. For a mo- ment, they just stood frozen, shocked expressions on their faces. Then my father broke into a run.

“Hurry!” I called out to the driver. “Please.”

At first I thought my father might catch up to the car, but the traffic cleared and my driver accelerated. As we sped away, I saw my father come to a stop and just stand in the road, cars zigzagging all around him as he tried to catch his breath and make sense of what he’d just seen.

Just as we turned the corner, my mother reached his side. He took her arm. I saw an expression of resignation settle on his face. Anger animated hers. I think she knew exactly where I was going. Not be- cause she was clairvoyant, which she was, of course, but because we were alike in so many ways, and if history was about to repeat itself, she wanted me to learn about my powers from her.

I’d been ambivalent about exploring my ability to receive mes- sages that were inaudible and invisible to others—messages that came to me through stones—but I knew if the day came that I was ready, I’d need someone other than her to guide me.

Years ago, when she was closer to my age, my mother’s journey to Paris had begun with her meeting La Lune, a spirit who’d kept herself alive for almost three centuries while waiting for a descendant strong enough to host her. My mother embraced La Lune’s spirit and allowed the witch to take over. But because Sandrine was my mother, I hadn’t been given an option. I’d been born with the witch’s powers running through my veins.

Once my mother made her choice to let La Lune in, she never questioned how she used her abilities. She justified her actions as long as they were for good. Or what she believed was good. But I’d seen her make decisions I thought were morally wrong. So when I was ready to learn about my own talents, I knew it had to be without my mother’s influence. My journey needed to be my own.

“I’m sorry, but I plan to stay in Paris and work for the war effort,” I told my mother when I telephoned home the following day to tell my parents I’d arrived at my great-grandmother’s house.

When my mother first moved to Paris, my great-grandmother tried but failed to hide the La Lune heritage f rom her. Once my mother discovered it, Grand-mère tried to convince my mother that learning the dark arts would be her undoing. My mother rejected her advice. When Grand-mère’s horror at Sandrine’s pos- session by La Lune was mistaken for madness, she was put in a sanatorium. Eventually my mother used magick to help restore Grand-mère to health. Part of her healing spell slowed down my great-grandmother’s aging process so in 1918, more than two de- cades later, she looked and acted like a woman in her sixties, not one approaching ninety.

Grand-mère was one of Paris’s great courtesans. A leftover from the Belle Époque, she remained ensconced in her splendid mansion, still entertaining, still running her salon. Only now she employed women younger than herself to provide the services she once had performed.

“But I don’t want you in Paris,” my mother argued. “Of all places, Opaline, Paris is the most dangerous for you to be on your own and . . .”

 

The rest of her sentence was swallowed by a burst of crackling. In 1905, we’d been one of the first families to have a telephone. A decade later almost all businesses and half the households in France had one, but transmission could still be spotty.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“It’s too dangerous for you in Paris.”

I didn’t ask what she meant, assuming she referred to how often the Germans were bombarding Paris. But now I know she wasn’t thinking of the war at all but rather of my untrained talents and the temptations and dangers awaiting me in the city where she’d faced her own demons.

I didn’t listen to her entreaties. No, out of a combination of guilt over Timur’s death and patriotism, my mind was set. I was commit- ted to living in Paris and working for the war effort. Only cowards went to America.

I’d known I couldn’t drive ambulances like other girls; I was di- sastrous behind the wheel. And from having three younger siblings, I knew nursing wasn’t a possibility—I couldn’t abide the sight of blood whenever Delphine, Sebastian, or Jadine got a cut.

Two months after Timur died, his mother, Anna Orloff, who had been like an aunt to me since I’d turned thirteen, wrote to say that, like so many French businesses, her husband’s jewelry shop had lost most of its jewelers to the army. With her stepson, Grigori, and her youngest son, Leo, fighting for France, she and Monsieur needed help in the shop.

Later, Anna told me she’d sensed I needed to be with her in Paris. She had always known things about me no one else had. Like my mother, Anna was involved in the occult, one reason she had been attracted to my mother’s artwork in the first place. For that alone, I should have eschewed her interest in me. After all, my mother’s use of magick to cure or cause ills, attract or repel people, as well as read minds and sometimes change them, still disturbed me. Too often I’d seen her blur the line between dark and light, pure and corrupt, with ease and without regret. That her choices disturbed me angered her.

Between her paintings, which took her away from my brother and sisters and me, and her involvement with the dark arts, I’d developed two minds about living in the occult world my mother inhabited with such ease.

Yet I was drawn to Anna for her warmth and sensitive nature— so different from my mother’s elaborate and eccentric one. Because I’d seen Anna be so patient with her sons’ and my siblings’ fears, I thought she’d be just as patient with mine. I imagined she could be the lamp to shine a light on the darkness I’d inherited and teach me control so I wouldn’t accidentally traverse the lines my mother crossed so boldly.

Undaunted, I’d fled from the dock in Cherbourg to Paris, and for more than three years I’d been ensconced in Orloff ’s gem of a store, learning from a master jeweler.

To teach me his craft, Monsieur had me work on a variety of pieces, but my main job involved soldering thin bars of gold or silver to create cages that would guard the glass on soldiers’ watch faces.

To some, what I did might have seemed a paltry effort, but in the field, at the f ront, men didn’t have the luxury of stopping to pull out a pocket watch, open it, and study the hour or the minute. They needed immediate information and had to wear watches on their wrists. And war isn’t kind to wristwatches. A sliver of shrapnel can crack the crystal. A whack on a rock as you crawl through a dugout can shatter the face. Soldiers required timepieces they could count on to be efficient and sturdy enough to withstand the rigors of combat.

Monsieur Orloff taught me how to execute the open crosshatched grates that fit over the watch crystal through which the soldiers could read the hour and the minute. While I worked, I liked to think I projected time for them. But the thought did little to lift my spirits.

 

It was their lives that needed protecting. France had lost so many, and still the war dragged on. So as I fused the cages, I attempted to imbue the metal with an armor of protective magick. Something helpful to do with my inheritance. Something I should have known how to do. After all, I am one of the Daughters of La Lune.

But as I discovered, the magick seemed to only make its way into the lockets I designed for the wives and mothers, sisters and lovers of soldiers already killed in battle. The very word “locket” contains everything one needs to know about my pieces. It stems from old French “loquet,” which means “miniature lock.” Since the 1670s, “locket” has been used to describe a keepsake charm or brooch with a personal memento, such as a portrait or a curl of hair, sealed inside, sometimes concealed by a false front.

My lockets always contained secrets. They were made of crystal, engraved with phrases and numbers, and filled with objects that had once belonged to the deceased soldiers. Encased in gold, these talis- mans hung on chains or leather. Of all the work I did, I found that it wasn’t the watches but the solace my lockets gave that proved to be my greatest gift to the war effort.

 

 

“A spellbinding ghost story that communicates the power of love and redemption through Rose’s extraordinary, magical lens.” (Alyson Richman, internationally bestselling author of The Lost Wife)

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Books-a-Million | IndieBound

 

About the Author

03_M.J. Rose AuthorM.J. Rose grew up in New York City mostly in the labyrinthine galleries of the Metropolitan Museum, the dark tunnels and lush gardens of Central Park and reading her motherís favorite books before she was allowed.

She is the author of more than a dozen novels, the co-president and founding board member of International Thriller Writers and the founder of the first marketing company for authors: AuthorBuzz.com. She lives in Greenwich, Connecticut. Visit her online at MJRose.com.

Connect with M.J. Rose on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Goodreads.

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Stroked by Meghan Quinn….Release Day Blitz



We’re celebrating the release of STROKED by Meghan Quinn! 

STROKED by Meghan Quinn
Scheduled to release: July 20, 2016
NA Romantic Comedy

BLURB:
Reese King: Olympic medalist, underwear model, Greek god.

His body is chiseled from rock, sculpted by the weight room, and refined by water.

On a daily basis his skin is completely bare for everyone to see, tan and defined, only covered up by a minuscule piece of spandex. There is no denying his sex appeal.

I hate to admit it, but I’m head over heels infatuated with him.

There is one HUGE problem though. His achingly gorgeous abs, inked up arm, and cocky swagger belong to my boss, the high-profile, reality star bitch from hell and certified heinous human being, Bellini Chambers.

What I think is going to be an easy job assisting a glorified wench turns into a cluster f*ck of epic proportions.

 

 

 

 

GIVEAWAY:

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About the Author:
Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.
Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking.
Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!
Find me on Goodreads:

His Royal Secret by Lilah Pace…ARC Review

His Royal Secret is out TODAY! 

HRS

 

Synopsis:

James, the handsome, cosmopolitan Prince of Wales, is used to being in the public eye. But he’s keeping a king-sized secret…James, next in line for the throne, is gay.

He’s been able to hide his sexual orientation with the help of his best friend and beard, Lady Cassandra. Sometimes he feels like a coward for not coming out, but he daren’t risk losing the crown. If he did, the succession would fall on his deeply troubled younger sister, Princess Amelia. To protect her, James is willing to live a lie.

While on holiday, he meets Benjamin Dahan—a rugged international reporter with a globe-trotting, unattached life—who catches far more than James’s eye. And when Ben is transferred to London, it seems fate may finally be smiling on James.

But what began as a torrid fling grows into something far more intimate and powerful. Soon James will have to decide who he is, what he wants from life and love, and what he’s willing to sacrifice for the truth…

 

My Review:

His Royal Secret is the first in a new series form author Liliah Pace and from the description alone, I knew this was going to be an amazing story.  After reading it, I have to say that Ms. Pace is one helluvah writer and I will certainly be looking into her previous works because this book knocked my socks off!

I am a sucker from good royal scandals and am fascinated with how they have to live their lives.  I could never imagine having every move I made be scrutinized and ridiculed.  I certainly couldn’t imagine living a lie under that kind of social microscope but alas, James is doing just that.  He has never been able to live his life as a gay man seeing as though he was s royal and while the world is certainly much more tolerant of a lot of things, it’s still not ready for a gay prince or king.  My heart breaks for James and the life he leads.  He has a great friend who has helped keep his charade of a straight man intact but he longs for more and when he met Benjamin I just knew it was something special for both of them.  I loved them together so damn much but in the same breath I was worried for James that he would be found out and his life would be ruined because of the close-minded and ignorant.  I love how these two secret lovers made their relationship work and that James has people close to him who know who he really is and accept him for that.  It was so amazing to read the dichotomy of James’ royal persona and the man he is behind closed doors.  The quiet and stolen moments he and Ben share are so special and so real.  I won’t ruin anything for you but I will say that this book ends leaving me both excited and terrified for their future!

I’m also dying to see what happens with James’ younger sister.  She is a bit of a mess and I’m sure her story is going to be an emotional one!

Thank you, Ms. Pace, for an amazing and touching read!

4andahalfloves

Four-and-a-Half Loves

J signature

 

Book Links:

Berkley  |  Amazon  |  B&N  |  Goodreads

About the author:

Lilah Pace is a pseudonym for a New York Times bestselling author, so she can’t give away too much about herself here, but she has lived everywhere from Italy to the United Kingdom before putting down roots in the American South.

She’s addicted to Diet Coke, loves her dog, and daydreams about several British movie stars (though usually no more than two at a time).

And while it took her a long while to get up the courage to write books, now she hopes she’ll never stop.

Lilah’s Website

Rock Wedding by Nalini Singh….Blog Tour

rock wedding book tour [47589]

New York Times bestselling author Nalini Singh continues her Rock Kiss series with a hot, sweet, emotional contemporary romance about love and forgiveness…

ROCK WEDDING IS NOW AVAILABLE!

rock wedding now live [47588]

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/29GM7Rp

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/29N1kPE

iBooks: http://apple.co/2a2dcmx

Nook:http://bit.ly/29O9I22

Kobo: http://bit.ly/29TozeO

rock wedding by nalini singh [47590]

BLURB

New York Times bestselling author Nalini Singh continues her Rock Kiss  series with a hot, sweet, emotional contemporary romance about love and forgiveness…

After a lifetime of longing for a real family, Sarah Smith thought she’d finally found her home with rock star Abe Bellamy, even if she knew Abe didn’t love her the way she loved him. But their brief relationship, filled with tragedy and heartache, nearly destroyed her. Alone, emotions in turmoil, and already shaky self-esteem shattered, Sarah struggles to pick up the pieces in the wake of their divorce.

Abe knows he’s to blame for the end of his marriage. Caught in a web of painful memories, he pushed away the best thing in his life – the sexy, smart woman he adores – breaking them both in the process. Then fate throws him a second chance to get things right, to prove to Sarah that she means everything to him. Abe desperately wants that second chance at love…even if he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

But can he convince Sarah – now strong and independent without him – to risk her wounded heart one more time?

rock wedding teaser 1 [47587]

EXCERPT

Plowing his gloved fists into the punching bag in front of him on the morning of the fourth day, Abe blocked out the other sounds in the gym and attempted to lose himself in the rhythm of the mindless action. It worked for about a minute before his mind filled with Sarah again. Her shy smile when he gave her a compliment. The way she’d sit curled up under his arm and read to him on lazy summer days.

Hard on the heels of that memory came one of him throwing her books in the pool in a drug-fueled rage. She’d been sobbing as she tried to save them.

“Fucking bastard,” Abe muttered, talking to his past self. He punched the bag so hard that it threatened to swing back right into his face. He didn’t care. He deserved to have his face beaten in.

Ripping off his gloves afterward, he showered, then went straight to a bookshop.

It was too little too late, but now that he’d remembered his asshole behavior, he couldn’t just leave it. Ball cap pulled low, he wandered the aisles… then realized most people here didn’t care who he was; they were more interested in the volumes that lined the shelves. He spent an hour inside the murmuring quiet of the store, searching for the titles he remembered seeing on their bedside table. She’d definitely read him Jane Austen.

He couldn’t remember which one though, so he bought the entire set.

And there was this one romance novel she loved and had read over and over again. He’d teased her it would fall apart in her hands one day. She’d just smiled and read him a paragraph that she’d told him was part of her favorite scene. What the hell had it been? Yes, that was it. In the end, it turned out the store didn’t have that book in stock, so he bought her a bunch of new releases featuring people with dogs or puppies on the covers. He definitely remembered seeing covers like that in their home

After spotting it in a display, he added in a nonfiction book about a woman who’d set up her own company while nearly flat broke and who was now a millionaire. At the counter, he paid extra to have the books wrapped up and packaged.

He’d called his car service earlier; the driver shot him a funny look when he put the package in the passenger seat and gave him Sarah’s address. “I’m a courier now?” the stocky middle-aged man asked, having worked long enough for Schoolboy Choir that he was a friend. They’d all missed his calm demeanor and total trustworthiness when he broke his leg recently and had been out for a while.

“Best in the business,” Abe responded.

The other man snorted. “I’ll get it to her now.”

Blowing out a breath after the gleaming black town car pulled away, Abe went to where he’d parked his SUV and got in. He didn’t want to go home to his empty house, but he didn’t want to barge in on his friends either. David and Thea, Noah and Kit, they needed time alone. As for Molly and Fox, while the newlyweds were back home after a short wedding trip, having postponed their honeymoon until later in the year, Abe wasn’t about to bust up their love nest.

Gabriel and Charlotte probably wouldn’t have minded the company since they’d been doing the sightseeing thing, but the other couple had flown back to New Zealand twenty-four hours earlier—after inviting all of them to their own wedding.

His phone buzzed right then.

Picking it up, he saw a message from Fox. Molly and I are at that Thai place with the noodles you like. We saved you a seat if you want to join us for lunch.

Damn, he loved his bandmates. On my way, he messaged back.

Starting the engine, he tried not to obsess over if Sarah would call him after receiving his long overdue gift. Hell, he’d be content with her throwing the books at his head. All he wanted was for her to talk to him, to let him show her he wasn’t that guy anymore, the one who’d destroyed them both.

rock wedding teaser 2 [47586]

EXCERPT #2

Sarah sat on the floor of her living room, books spread out all around her.

Having worked nonstop for days, she’d given herself the afternoon off. First, she’d gone to see her son. The anniversary had rolled around again, and though she hurt, this month wasn’t one of the bad ones. She’d talked to him, told him about her day, left him with a kiss.

Her plan for the rest of the day had been to get into her pj’s and curl up on the couch with Flossie to binge-watch a favorite television series. Then had come the buzz at the gate that made her heart thunder and her skin flush… and the delivery of a most unexpected package.

I hope you’re doing okay today. Say hi to Aaron for me. I’m sorry I threw your books in the pool. I was a dick. – Abe

Sarah stared at the note card again, still not certain she was reading it right. The first two lines, they turned her throat thick, but the rest… He’d been so high that day that she’d have bet her business he had no memory of the ugly incident. Sarah had never forgotten it: she could still feel the wrenching ache of the sobs that had overwhelmed her as she tried futilely to fish out books that had been well and truly drenched.

Abe, meanwhile, had moved on to throwing the pool furniture into the shimmering blue water.

Her fingers trembled as she picked up a leather-bound copy of Jane Austen’s Persuasion. It matched the other Austen novels he’d sent her, the set a lovely reissue packaged for collectors. Beside the fancy collector’s editions lay cheerful paperbacks with laughing couples and/or dogs on the covers.

She stifled a wet laugh. He’d clearly chosen those at random, but it was cute that he’d remembered she liked romances with animals in them. Half the time when she’d read to him or talked to him about her favorites, she’d thought he was mostly asleep. It hadn’t mattered—she’d just liked being with him.

The most surprising book in the package was the one about the entrepreneur who’d gone from rags to riches on stubborn grit and sheer determination.

It gave her a funny, fluttery feeling in her tummy to realize Abe really did take her business endeavor seriously. It wasn’t mockery, not when he’d gone to the effort of choosing these other books with her likes specifically in mind. He’d thought she’d like the book because she was an entrepreneur too.

Her eyes burned.

Her hand went to her phone, but she hesitated, the memories of her awful loneliness while she’d been with Abe holding her in place. Curling her fingers into her palm, she picked up the television remote instead.

She had to keep her distance if she was to have any chance of protecting her battered heart. Because this Abe? The one who sent her flowers and books and who dropped by to make sure she was all right? He was more dangerous than the man who’d broken her to pieces.

© Copyright 2016 by Nalini Singh

Haven’t read this series yet?

Start the Rock Kiss Series NOW!

Rock Addiction (Book One) Rock Kiss Series

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Rock Courtship (Book 1.5) A Rock Kiss Novel:

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Rock Hard (Book Two) Rock Kiss Series

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  • Rock Redemption (Book Three) Rock Kiss Series

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1hP7G54

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Nook:http://bit.ly/1VIYkH2

iBooks: http://apple.co/1ITi0i7

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1VIYoXo

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

nalini Singh [47591]

Nalini Singh is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Psy-Changeling, Guild Hunter, and Rock Kiss series. She lives and works in beautiful New Zealand, and is passionate about writing.

If you’d like to explore her other books, you can find lots of excerpts and free short stories on her website. Slave to Sensation is the first book in the Psy-Changeling series, while Angels’ Blood is the first book in the Guild Hunter series. The Rock Kiss books are all stand alone and can be read in any order.

STALK HER:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

GIVEAWAY

$50 AMAZON Gift Card

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The Secret Language of Stones by M.J. Rose…Release Day Event

TheSecretLanguageOfStones-RDL Banner

 

 

THE SECRET LANGUAGE OF STONES is a stunning historical Gothic romantic suspense published by Atria, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, releasing today! Written to be a total and complete standalone novel, THE SECRET LANGUAGE OF STONES is the second title in M.J. Rose’s The Daughters of La Lune Series. Sexy, compelling, and seductive, be sure to grab your copy today!

 

 

 

The Secret Language of Stones - RDL Teaser 1

 

 

Excerpt:

The war had stolen all our dreams. Women who were supposed to have had houses full of children, would probably remain childless; men who otherwise might have made their fortunes, were now dead in the trenches. Even if I was brave enough to go searching for love, my chances of finding it were slim.

“I went to Le Figaro,” I said out loud. “I met a receptionist who has quite a crush on you.” A moment passed in silence. Just about to be convinced yet again that, yes, I’d imagined it all, I felt an almost breeze blow through my room. There should be nothing suspect about a breeze. Except it was impossible. There were no windows here. Yet it brushed my face, ruffled my hair. The very air moved. I smelled limes mixed with…I sniffed again…mixed with verbena and a hint of myrrh.

Why there?

“Now that we’ve met, I wanted to read your columns.Who did you write them to?”

At the time I didn’t know. Now I think maybe, I wrote them for you.

“Me?”

I think we were supposed to meet but I messed that up.

“What do you mean?”

It’s all my fault, I misread the signs, I delayed issuing orders…

The words ceased. Silence. And then I heard what sounded like a sob.

“Jean Luc, what do you mean about us meeting? About messing that up.”

I think if I hadn’t made those mistakes in the field I would have come back to Paris and visited your store and looked at the jewelry and seen something to buy for my mother and would have met you.

I put my hand up to the talisman to touch it. To touch him?

“But now you won’t.”

No.

“I’m sorry.”

Yes. Me too. For you. For so many many things.

I didn’t say anything.

Don’t cry.

He could see me?

“How did you know I was crying? So you really can see me? Where areyou?” I was so frustrated and confused.

Until you started to make the talisman I was asleep, floating…and then the closer you came to completing it, the more aware I became. When you touch it, you come into focus. Through fog. As if there is certain distance between us. Yet more clearly thanmakes any sense, considering I am a world away from you.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “And I am a little afraid.”

And then, I felt, or I thought I felt…no…I did feel his hand brushing myhair off my forehead.

I don’t want to make you afraid.

His touch made me shiver and begin to tremble.

I can’t bear for you to be afraid of me. You, here, it’s the only time since…since ithappened I don’t feel as lost.

I tried desperately to quell the shaking. Pressure increased against the spot he’d cleared. Not lips, no. But a force suggesting lips. Perhaps from the shock, my shaking stopped.

When I kissed you just now, you felt it, didn’t you?

I nodded.

And now, do you feel this?

Somehow he’d taken my hand. I looked down and saw nothing but myown hand in my lap. I didn’t feel flesh. Instead, it was as if I was holding smoke.

And where our hands met, my skin warmed to his touch.

I can’t stay.

“What do you mean?”

It takes an effort to be here. So much effort. Have to…learn how to…

He continued speaking, but from an even greater distance. His voicefading.

“Jean Luc?”

Silence.

And then, my tears came. As if I’d known him for years and just found out he’d died. I glanced down at my hand again. It looked no different from before and yet was cold. I touched my right hand with my left. Trying to find where his amorphous fingers had lain, trying to pick up a sense of him. But there was nothing there.

 

“The most powerful book I’ve read this year! Seductive, compelling, and beautifully written.” ~New York Times bestseller Melissa Foster

“THE SECRET LANGUAGE OF STONES is a unique, hauntingly romantic love story that could only come from the imagination of M.J. Rose. This absorbing, richly rendered novel is one you’ll want to savor.”

~Lara Adrian, New York Times bestselling author of DEFY THE DAWN

 

 

The Secret Language of Stones

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | IndieBound

As World War I rages and the Romanov dynasty reaches its sudden, brutal end, a young jewelry maker discovers love, passion, and her own healing powers in this rich and romantic ghost story, the perfect follow-up to M.J. Rose’s “brilliantly crafted” (Providence Journal) novel The Witch of Painted Sorrows.

Nestled within Paris’s historic Palais Royal is a jewelry store unlike any other. La Fantasie Russie is owned by Pavel Orloff, protégé to the famous Faberge, and is known by the city’s fashion elite as the place to find the rarest of gemstones and the most unique designs. But war has transformed Paris from a city of style and romance to a place of fear and mourning. In the summer of 1918, places where lovers used to walk, widows now wander alone.

So it is from La Fantasie Russie’s workshop that young, ambitious Opaline Duplessi now spends her time making trench watches for soldiers at the front, as well as mourning jewelry for the mothers, wives, and lovers of those who have fallen. People say that Opaline’s creations are magical. But magic is a word Opaline would rather not use. The concept is too closely associated with her mother Sandrine, who practices the dark arts passed down from their ancestor La Lune, one of sixteenth century Paris’s most famous courtesans.

But Opaline does have a rare gift even she can’t deny, a form of lithomancy that allows her to translate the energy emanating from stones. Certain gemstones, combined with a personal item, such as a lock of hair, enable her to receive messages from beyond the grave. In her mind, she is no mystic, but merely a messenger, giving voice to soldiers who died before they were able to properly express themselves to loved ones. Until one day, one of these fallen soldiers communicates a message—directly to her.

So begins a dangerous journey that will take Opaline into the darkest corners of wartime Paris and across the English Channel, where the exiled Romanov dowager empress is waiting to discover the fate of her family. Full of romance, seduction, and a love so powerful it reaches beyond the grave, The Secret Language of Stones is yet another “spellbindingly haunting” (Suspense magazine), “entrancing read that will long be savored” (Library Journal, starred review).

 

 

 

WitchPainted_Rose

And Don’t Miss the First Book in The Daughters of La Lune Series, THE WITCH OF PAINTED SORROWS!

Amazon ** Barnes and Noble ** iBooks ** IndieBound

 

A dazzling mix of history, mystery and mystical arts . . . Rose’s paranormal historical bewitches from start to finish. Her amazing ability to make her story line believable and her extraordinary protagonist relatable result in an unforgettable psychic thriller.” (Library Journal (Starred review))

“An exciting mix of adventure, intrigue, and romance in this thrilling historical tale.” (Booklist)

“Haunting, spellbinding, captivating; Rose’s story of the power of love and redemption is masterful. More than a romance or ghost story, this is a tale of a young woman learning to embrace her unique qualities…So carefully crafted and beautifully written, readers will believe in the magical possibilities of love transcending time.” (RT Magazine (Top Pick))

“Rose follows up The Witch of Painted Sorrows (2015) with Sandrine’s daughter’s story, set against the tragic yet exquisite canvases of Paris, the Great War, and the Russian Revolution, and offers fascinating historical tidbits in the midst of bright, imaginative storytelling and complex, supernatural worldbuilding. A compelling, heart-wrenching, creative, and intricate read.” (Kirkus Reviews)

 

 

The Secret Language of Stones - RDL Teaser 2

Daughter of La Lune Pendant
 Giveaway!

We’re celebrating the release of THE SECRET LANGUAGE OF STONES by giving away a beautiful Daughter of La Lune pendant. Designed by Cadsawan Jewelry, the silver pendant contains a labradorite, a magical stone excellent for awakening one’s own awareness of inner spirit, intuition, and psychic abilities.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

 

MJ Rose - Headshot

About M.J. Rose:

New York Times Bestseller, M.J. Rose grew up in New York City mostly in the labyrinthine galleries of the Metropolitan Museum, the dark tunnels and lush gardens of Central Park and reading her mother’s favorite books before she was allowed. She believes mystery and magic are all around us but we are too often too busy to notice… books that exaggerate mystery and magic draw attention to it and remind us to look for it and revel in it.

Rose’s work has appeared in many magazines including Oprah Magazine and she has been featured in the New York Times, Newsweek, WSJ, Time, USA Today and on the Today Show, and NPR radio. Rose graduated from Syracuse University, spent the ’80s in advertising, has a commercial in the Museum of Modern Art in NYC and since 2005 has run the first marketing company for authors – Authorbuzz.com

The television series PAST LIFE, was based on Rose’s novels in the Reincarnationist series. She is one of the founding board members of International Thriller Writers and currently serves, with Lee Child, as the organization’s co-president.

Rose lives in CT with her husband the musician and composer, Doug Scofield, and their very spoiled and often photographed dog, Winka.

 

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