Sometimes to find love, you must first learn forgiveness.
A dozen years, two thousand miles, and a law degree after high school, Rafi continues to harbor resentment toward Isaac , his childhood bully turned NBA star. When Isaac appears at Rafi's favorite restaurant acting like a long-lost friend, Rafi bluntly dismisses him. Isaac is tenacious and he has his heart set on the grown-up version of the boy he always wanted. The way Isaac sees it, he and Rafi are perfect for each other, if only he could sink the most important shot of his life: his one shot at forgiveness. |
Duncan is a former football player. He agrees, reluctantly, to do a documentary by a beautiful journalist, Olivia. He doesn’t like her digging into his past and what he likes even less is the feelings growing between them. They both have a past relationship that screws them up. I think that’s very realistic and it makes their behavior completely understandable. I like how they grow though. It starts with hostility and ends with romance. I’m not a fan of Football since the whole Michael Vick thing. If you enjoy football though, you’ll be sure to relish the details the authors write. There is a bit of repetition that threw me out of the story a few times. The romance is super hot and sexy. I really think the authors did a great job with the sex scenes. Duncan really had a manly, delicious way about him. I really liked that ending too! Numbers Game is a great romance circling around football. I’d highly recommend it! Giveaway:To ENTER you MUST comment below: WINNERS:
|
Cayme Foster returns home to deal with her mom's fatal illness and is faced with memories and secrets she'd rather forget. Her old crush and his adorable eight-year-old son will make it even more difficult to leave town again. Single dad Rick Morrison had his shot at marriage and isn't willing to risk rejection a second time. If only he wasn't compelled to rescue Cayme whenever he's around her, making it hard to keep his distance. He's conflicted about helping Cayme save her home, but the truth rises with the floodwaters, and they just might find love on the high ground after all. |
Some fun facts about Stanalei Fletcher and the book, Into Something Good:
Stanalei’s love of writing romance comes from reading favorites such as Grimm’s Fairy Tales, Tom Clancy, and Alistair MacLean.
After a taste of life on both U.S. coasts, she now resides near the beautiful Wasatch Mountain Range with her husband. Together they enjoy backcountry trails on a RZR, visiting National Parks, and exploring museums and ghost towns.
She and her husband have over twenty years of training in the martial arts and both hold the rank of Sandan, a third-degree black belt, in Aikido.
Stanalei was raised in a small town in Idaho, much like Blakely, the town depicted in the story. Like the characters in the story, she used the streets as extension of her backyard to play ball with her brothers.
The heroine’s name, Cayme (pronounced Kay-me), was the name of childhood friend. Because Stanalei never had a daughter, she chose that name for one of her favorite female characters.
Raise of hands— Have you ever built a clothesline tent?
You may visit Stanalei HERE.
Stanalei’s love of writing romance comes from reading favorites such as Grimm’s Fairy Tales, Tom Clancy, and Alistair MacLean.
After a taste of life on both U.S. coasts, she now resides near the beautiful Wasatch Mountain Range with her husband. Together they enjoy backcountry trails on a RZR, visiting National Parks, and exploring museums and ghost towns.
She and her husband have over twenty years of training in the martial arts and both hold the rank of Sandan, a third-degree black belt, in Aikido.
Stanalei was raised in a small town in Idaho, much like Blakely, the town depicted in the story. Like the characters in the story, she used the streets as extension of her backyard to play ball with her brothers.
The heroine’s name, Cayme (pronounced Kay-me), was the name of childhood friend. Because Stanalei never had a daughter, she chose that name for one of her favorite female characters.
Raise of hands— Have you ever built a clothesline tent?
You may visit Stanalei HERE.
- SNEAK PEEK -
Chase Peters had a way of pretending to notice others as though they were an afterthought. Just one more thing about his ego and arrogance Cayme should have seen while they dated yet somehow missed. She was an idiot to believe she was once in love enough to marry him.
“Peters.” Rick’s voice was low with cautious civility.
Joy wiggled her way to stand almost directly in front of Cayme and inadvertently upstaged Chase. “You didn’t introduce me.” Her big green eyes ogled Rick, then she unzipped her parka and stuck out a petite hand.
“I’m Joy. Chase’s girlfriend.”
Cayme had no problem looking over the top of Joy’s shiny hair to see Chase’s scowl at the woman flaunting her wares in front of another man. Payback’s a bugger, isn’t it buddy? She swallowed a hysterical laugh. Chase deserved whatever he got. However, she wasn’t ruining her own karma by wishing it on him.
Rick’s hard gaze shifted from Chase to Cayme.
No way could he miss seeing the same panic that had been on her face when he’d rescued her from the ladder.
Then he glanced at Joy and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Rick Morrison.” He released her hand a bit more quickly than she expected based on her frown.
A sudden gleam entered Rick’s chocolate-brown eyes, and he stepped closer to Cayme. Before she could register that he had moved, his warm breath puffed near her ear.
“Sorry.” His arm slipped around her shoulders.
Pulling her into an unexpected hug, he placed his lips against her cheek. The kiss was quick, evaporating any response to his apology. His firm, warm mouth grazed her skin and nuzzled her neck, sending a tingle down her spine and a tremor to her thighs. She had no idea what he was doing and didn’t care as long as he kept doing it.
He lifted his head and gave her shoulders another hard squeeze before looking at Chase and Joy. “I’m Cayme’s fiancé.”
If Rick lived to be a hundred and ninety years old, he would never understand what made him tell the most outlandish lie of his life. The moment the words, I’m Cayme’s fiancé, left his mouth, everything inside the store slowed to a snail’s pace. Even his own heartbeat seemed to stop. Maybe the situation wasn’t real, just some bizarre aberration his imagination had conjured up.
Then Cayme stiffened and emitted a strange little squeak.
Not an aberration. Everyone had heard his words.
His gaze dropped to her face, hoping the apology was clear in his eyes.
She stared up at him, her blue eyes wide. Her mouth was slightly open, and the tip of her tongue darted between those kissable lips. Two spots of color flagged each cheek.
He had to admit that he was a little stunned, too.
His impulsive announcement was foolish, to say the least. What if she was involved with someone? And if she was, why wasn’t he there to save the day? He blamed Chase Peters for these contradicting emotions that made him itch to break the guy’s perfect nose— maybe knock out a few teeth while he was at it.
Instead, he placed a finger under Cayme’s jaw and gently pushed her mouth shut. The touch was electric.
The bookstore and people fell away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in a private cocoon.
His finger lingered on the smooth silk of her skin. He was tempted, beyond what any man should endure, to slide his palm up the side of her face and pull her close. He liked the way she smelled of fresh honeysuckle—the way she shivered under his touch. He couldn’t ignore the protective swell in his chest. With sudden clarity, he realized that this urge to protect her was exactly the reason he’d blurted out the insane announcement.
Rick swallowed the unexpected punch of desire that drove through his chest, making him want to kiss her fully on the mouth. That would be a monumental mistake because he’d probably never stop.
“Peters.” Rick’s voice was low with cautious civility.
Joy wiggled her way to stand almost directly in front of Cayme and inadvertently upstaged Chase. “You didn’t introduce me.” Her big green eyes ogled Rick, then she unzipped her parka and stuck out a petite hand.
“I’m Joy. Chase’s girlfriend.”
Cayme had no problem looking over the top of Joy’s shiny hair to see Chase’s scowl at the woman flaunting her wares in front of another man. Payback’s a bugger, isn’t it buddy? She swallowed a hysterical laugh. Chase deserved whatever he got. However, she wasn’t ruining her own karma by wishing it on him.
Rick’s hard gaze shifted from Chase to Cayme.
No way could he miss seeing the same panic that had been on her face when he’d rescued her from the ladder.
Then he glanced at Joy and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Rick Morrison.” He released her hand a bit more quickly than she expected based on her frown.
A sudden gleam entered Rick’s chocolate-brown eyes, and he stepped closer to Cayme. Before she could register that he had moved, his warm breath puffed near her ear.
“Sorry.” His arm slipped around her shoulders.
Pulling her into an unexpected hug, he placed his lips against her cheek. The kiss was quick, evaporating any response to his apology. His firm, warm mouth grazed her skin and nuzzled her neck, sending a tingle down her spine and a tremor to her thighs. She had no idea what he was doing and didn’t care as long as he kept doing it.
He lifted his head and gave her shoulders another hard squeeze before looking at Chase and Joy. “I’m Cayme’s fiancé.”
If Rick lived to be a hundred and ninety years old, he would never understand what made him tell the most outlandish lie of his life. The moment the words, I’m Cayme’s fiancé, left his mouth, everything inside the store slowed to a snail’s pace. Even his own heartbeat seemed to stop. Maybe the situation wasn’t real, just some bizarre aberration his imagination had conjured up.
Then Cayme stiffened and emitted a strange little squeak.
Not an aberration. Everyone had heard his words.
His gaze dropped to her face, hoping the apology was clear in his eyes.
She stared up at him, her blue eyes wide. Her mouth was slightly open, and the tip of her tongue darted between those kissable lips. Two spots of color flagged each cheek.
He had to admit that he was a little stunned, too.
His impulsive announcement was foolish, to say the least. What if she was involved with someone? And if she was, why wasn’t he there to save the day? He blamed Chase Peters for these contradicting emotions that made him itch to break the guy’s perfect nose— maybe knock out a few teeth while he was at it.
Instead, he placed a finger under Cayme’s jaw and gently pushed her mouth shut. The touch was electric.
The bookstore and people fell away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in a private cocoon.
His finger lingered on the smooth silk of her skin. He was tempted, beyond what any man should endure, to slide his palm up the side of her face and pull her close. He liked the way she smelled of fresh honeysuckle—the way she shivered under his touch. He couldn’t ignore the protective swell in his chest. With sudden clarity, he realized that this urge to protect her was exactly the reason he’d blurted out the insane announcement.
Rick swallowed the unexpected punch of desire that drove through his chest, making him want to kiss her fully on the mouth. That would be a monumental mistake because he’d probably never stop.
- Giveaway -
Prize One
Prize Two
To ENTER comment below:
1. What did you like about the sneak peek of Into Something Good?
2. Have you read Stanalei Fletcher before?
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Morgan Tenbey, third son of Viscount Ramsbury, is called home to the family’s country estate. His father declares that it’s time to set aside his love of fast horses, gambling, and high fashion in order to take a position as vicar. Unable to imagine a life outside of London, Morgan believes he'll be miserable forever, until he meets Davie, a groom in the family stables. Davie fled his last post in Scotland after his employer discovered him kissing the wrong person, but history seems doomed to repeat itself when Davie falls for Morgan. Can two people who feel like they’ll never belong find their way to a future together? |
- SNEAK PEEK -
The west pasture had a few distant horses grazing, bright splashes of chestnut and white against the green grass. Neat hedgerows marched around the edges of the pasture, only broken here and there by stone fencing. Morgan had been worried about tracking down Davie, who could have been anywhere in the field, but for once, Morgan’s luck held.
The closest gate hung open, one post missing. Davie, his red curls gilded by the sunlight—as if the fellow needed an extra layer of pretty—stood with his hands on his hips, inspecting the gate. His braces dangled down beside his legs, and his shirt was untucked with the collar hanging open. The sleeves were pushed up above Davie’s elbows, revealing muscled forearms dusted with dark auburn hair.
How unfair.
Davie bent over, his trousers pulling tight against his rear.
Morgan knew quite a bit of scripture that he should probably be reciting at the moment, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember a lick of it. Honestly, he hadn’t come out here to be tempted.
With a grunt, Davie hefted a new fence post. He wrestled it over to the hole and dropped it in. The man’s shoulders were a work of art. At his sides, Morgan’s hands curled into fists. No touching allowed. His lower lip tried to creep out. He had to force himself not to pout like a spoiled toddler.
Tilting his head back, Davie groaned and rolled his shoulders. He grabbed the tails of his shirt and pulled them up, wiping sweat from his face. A sliver of his back was revealed. The skin, pale and smooth, practically begged to be caressed.
Morgan’s nails dug into his palms. “Excuse me,” he called. At the rate this was going, the fellow would be opening his trousers to tug at himself before noticing Morgan was standing a few feet away.
Davie spun, dropping his shirt. There was a startled bark from the long grass, and the little terrier from the night before poked her head out. She took one look at Morgan and promptly disappeared back into her bower. He must not be very threatening.
“Er, hello,” Davie said, tugging at his forelock. “Is Handsome all right? Did you need me to saddle him?” The lilt of his voice complemented the bucolic scene around them, like the man was part of the landscape itself. Drat him. And did he have to be so amiable?
Morgan straightened to his full height. He was still a head shorter than Davie, though the hat alleviated some of the difference. It didn’t matter anyway. Morgan had never minded a man being a bit taller and broader than himself. “There’s no way to put too fine a point on this,” he started. “I suppose I might as well just come out and say it.”
One red eyebrow lifted. “Please do.”
“Well, I’m here … I’m here to bribe you.” There, now it was out in the open.
Davie’s other brow lifted. “Ah, right. May I ask why?”
Morgan heaved a sigh. “Your silence? Not running to my father and telling him about my sins?”
“What sins?”
This was impossible. “Do you want me to spell it out, so you have the words to send me to the gallows with?” Morgan sputtered. “Shall I describe exactly what I was thinking, and you can toss that in there too? Maybe put it in writing?”
“Wait.” Davie rubbed his temple. “Is this about—” He cut off his words and craned his neck as if looking for anyone spying on them from the shrubbery.
“We’re quite alone,” Morgan snapped.
Davie still cut his eyes left and right again, then drew closer to Morgan. “That’s a very lovely outfit you’re wearing. It looks good on you.”
“Everything looks good on me.”
Davie’s adam’s apple did an interesting bob. “Look, is this about you almost kissing me? Last night?”
“No, all the other times.” Morgan winced at Davie’s blank look. “Yes, last night. I can pay you a hundred pounds to not breathe a word of it to anyone. Not Ramsbury, and not to the magistrate. Don’t even confess it to the vicar.”
A slow smile spread over Davie’s face and his eyes twinkled. “Aren’t you a vicar? Or you will be, soon enough. Should I confess it to you?”
“Are you teasing me?” Morgan had no idea how to respond. Actually, he knew exactly how he wanted to respond, kissing that smug smile right off the bastard’s lips.
“A little, but don’t fret, I’m not about to set my tongue wagging. So you can take yourself back to the manor and do whatever it is you do. Get your shirts starched or the like.” Davie gave Morgan a sharp nod before turning to the gate.
Had he just been dismissed? How rude.
The closest gate hung open, one post missing. Davie, his red curls gilded by the sunlight—as if the fellow needed an extra layer of pretty—stood with his hands on his hips, inspecting the gate. His braces dangled down beside his legs, and his shirt was untucked with the collar hanging open. The sleeves were pushed up above Davie’s elbows, revealing muscled forearms dusted with dark auburn hair.
How unfair.
Davie bent over, his trousers pulling tight against his rear.
Morgan knew quite a bit of scripture that he should probably be reciting at the moment, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember a lick of it. Honestly, he hadn’t come out here to be tempted.
With a grunt, Davie hefted a new fence post. He wrestled it over to the hole and dropped it in. The man’s shoulders were a work of art. At his sides, Morgan’s hands curled into fists. No touching allowed. His lower lip tried to creep out. He had to force himself not to pout like a spoiled toddler.
Tilting his head back, Davie groaned and rolled his shoulders. He grabbed the tails of his shirt and pulled them up, wiping sweat from his face. A sliver of his back was revealed. The skin, pale and smooth, practically begged to be caressed.
Morgan’s nails dug into his palms. “Excuse me,” he called. At the rate this was going, the fellow would be opening his trousers to tug at himself before noticing Morgan was standing a few feet away.
Davie spun, dropping his shirt. There was a startled bark from the long grass, and the little terrier from the night before poked her head out. She took one look at Morgan and promptly disappeared back into her bower. He must not be very threatening.
“Er, hello,” Davie said, tugging at his forelock. “Is Handsome all right? Did you need me to saddle him?” The lilt of his voice complemented the bucolic scene around them, like the man was part of the landscape itself. Drat him. And did he have to be so amiable?
Morgan straightened to his full height. He was still a head shorter than Davie, though the hat alleviated some of the difference. It didn’t matter anyway. Morgan had never minded a man being a bit taller and broader than himself. “There’s no way to put too fine a point on this,” he started. “I suppose I might as well just come out and say it.”
One red eyebrow lifted. “Please do.”
“Well, I’m here … I’m here to bribe you.” There, now it was out in the open.
Davie’s other brow lifted. “Ah, right. May I ask why?”
Morgan heaved a sigh. “Your silence? Not running to my father and telling him about my sins?”
“What sins?”
This was impossible. “Do you want me to spell it out, so you have the words to send me to the gallows with?” Morgan sputtered. “Shall I describe exactly what I was thinking, and you can toss that in there too? Maybe put it in writing?”
“Wait.” Davie rubbed his temple. “Is this about—” He cut off his words and craned his neck as if looking for anyone spying on them from the shrubbery.
“We’re quite alone,” Morgan snapped.
Davie still cut his eyes left and right again, then drew closer to Morgan. “That’s a very lovely outfit you’re wearing. It looks good on you.”
“Everything looks good on me.”
Davie’s adam’s apple did an interesting bob. “Look, is this about you almost kissing me? Last night?”
“No, all the other times.” Morgan winced at Davie’s blank look. “Yes, last night. I can pay you a hundred pounds to not breathe a word of it to anyone. Not Ramsbury, and not to the magistrate. Don’t even confess it to the vicar.”
A slow smile spread over Davie’s face and his eyes twinkled. “Aren’t you a vicar? Or you will be, soon enough. Should I confess it to you?”
“Are you teasing me?” Morgan had no idea how to respond. Actually, he knew exactly how he wanted to respond, kissing that smug smile right off the bastard’s lips.
“A little, but don’t fret, I’m not about to set my tongue wagging. So you can take yourself back to the manor and do whatever it is you do. Get your shirts starched or the like.” Davie gave Morgan a sharp nod before turning to the gate.
Had he just been dismissed? How rude.
- Giveaway -
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1. Why do you want to read High Strung?
2. Have you read Hannah Morse before?
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