|
Taina Aponte, the sole survivor of an arson fire that killed her family, was taken to safety in Puerto Rico by her grandmother to escape the wholesale destruction of The Bronx. Thirty years later Taina, now a witch and still haunted by her memories, is back in the hood.
Taina’s search for the murderers uncovers a vast werewolf/dhampir conspiracy—and an alliance of fae to aid in her quest for justice. She enters into an uneasy alliance with Arnaldo Arroyo, a reformed addict turned community activist. The truths she uncovers shake her faith in everything and everyone she ever knew. Will she accept the mandate of the orishas to restore the balance between good and evil and take back the neighborhood? |
the Were Queen and her mentor is a vampire ancient. At first, resistive to Valadon’s charms, she will risk her life to bring him the information he needs to thwart his enemies. But Valadon’s second, the sexy and sarcastic Remare, believes Miranda is a member of the HOL working to destroy his lord. The chemistry between them quickly escalates as they search for those plotting against Valadon.Putting aside their distrust of each other, Remare and Miranda work hard to discover who is trying to murder the high lord. But Remare’s first loyalty is to his lord. He can’t allow himself to care for someone Valadon has marked as his own…or can he? - Q and A with Diana Marik -Q: How did you begin your writing career? DM: I was an avid reader of paranormal romance and urban fantasy, always fascinated with otherworldly type books and as a former English teacher, I figured I could do this. I joined professional writers’ associations and attended numerous seminars, workshops, lectures, etc. Having a kickass editor who helped me grow as an author was a bonus. Q: Do you have any favorite authors you consider influential? DM: Yes, several. The first two authors I read were Laurell K. Hamilton (UF) and Sherrilyn McQueen (PNR). I adore both of them and that’s probably why my own style of writing is a blend of PNR and UF. Other authors I admire are Nalini Singh, Karen Marie Moning, JR Ward, and JD Robb, among many others. Q: What do you enjoy most about writing? DM: That’s a tough one. Mostly I like coming up with characters who are interesting, sexy, fun, dynamic, and not afraid of taking risks. I like putting them outside their comfort zones to see how they’ll react. And, of course, I love writing romantic situations, watching how characters fall in love, sometimes fighting the attraction every step of the way. Q: Besides writing, what else do you enjoy? DM: Traveling. I’m a New Yorker, but I have friends who live in the South, so I get to visit Florida, New Orleans, and New Mexico; I consider NOLA my home away from home. Q: What do you consider the highlights of your career? DM: Besides meeting other authors I fangirl over, I’d say winning the Passionate Ink Award for Best Paranormal Romance. It was totally unexpected and a thrilling experience. Book Blurb: Lord Valadon, CEO of ValCorp and leader of New York’s vampires, has become fascinated with Miranda Crescent—a human woman with powers only Elementals possess. As his enemies conspire against him, he becomes drawn to her, but knows any involvement with Miranda will only endanger her life because within the human population exists the Human Order of Light—a nefarious organization, whose sole purpose is the eradication of vampires. Miranda Crescent is an authenticator of rare works of art who isn’t afraid of danger. Her best friend is the Were Queen and her mentor is a vampire ancient. At first, resistive to Valadon’s charms, she will risk her life to bring him the information he needs to thwart his enemies. But Valadon’s second—the sexy and sarcastic Remare, believes Miranda is a member of the HOL working to destroy his lord. The chemistry between them quickly escalates as they search for those plotting against Valadon. Putting aside their mutual distrust, Remare and Miranda work to discover who is trying to murder the High Lord. But Remare’s first loyalty is to his lord. He can’t allow himself to care for someone Valadon has marked as his own…or can he? Action, suspense, mystery, and steamy romance. - GIVEAWAY - Prize One  Prize Two To enter comment below: WINNERS:
|
 | They each hit the trail solo in search of themselves… Overworked entrepreneur Jules Martinez is sick and tired of men leaving her for their exes. Determined to wipe the giant, scarlet R for rebound off her forehead, she kicks off a yearlong vow of celibacy with five, blissful weeks backpacking her favorite trails through Washington State. Solo. Out-of-work financial analyst Evan Davenport hasn’t been happy since camping in Scouts as a kid—before his wealthy parents and now ex-fiancé made all his major life decisions. Hoping to find joy and purpose, he buys all the latest ultralight |
backpacking gear, flies to Washington, and sets off alone on a weeklong speed hike through the wilderness.
Mother Nature has other plans, though, and keeps shoving Evan and Jules in each other’s paths. Usually naked. When sparks fly, can they find what they’re looking for in life together instead of apart?
Mother Nature has other plans, though, and keeps shoving Evan and Jules in each other’s paths. Usually naked. When sparks fly, can they find what they’re looking for in life together instead of apart?
- SNEAK PEEK -
“I’m so jealous, Jules.” Bryn perched on the end of one of the beds in our hotel room at
Cascade Locks, watching me pack gear. The thin, gray light of pre-dawn filtered through a crack in gold curtains that’d seen better days.
I tucked a bag of snacks and my rain jacket into the top of my backpack, cinched the
drawcord, and buckled the lid with a solid click. “Of what, twelve guys dumping me for their exes in a row? I’m sure we could arrange that for you too. If you ever really start dating again.”
“Ha. Funny.” She toed my calf. “You’re taking five weeks off to go backpacking solo.
Who cares why?”
Tingles of excitement zoomed around in my chest and I flashed her a grin. “Yeah.
Dealing with zero assholes and zero clients for more than a month does sound pretty heavenly, doesn’t it?”
She grinned back. “Like I said, totally jealous. At least of your trip.” Her expression went serious. “I still can’t believe the next guy you date is gonna be unlucky number thirteen, though.”
“Yeah. I’ve thought about that. Probably too much. Definitely enough to jinx the next one for sure. So, I’m swearing off men for at least a year to restart the count.” I hesitated, the excitement buzz fading. “A year is enough time to consider it a clean dating slate, right?”
“Wait. You mean you’re swearing off dating, or swearing off sex too?”
“Yes. Both. All of it.” The last eight years had been nothing but suckage on the relationship front. It’d probably take more than a year to fix my shit. But nothing would change if I didn’t change something.
Bryn eyes widened. “You’re serious.”
“Dead.” Bending, I tugged the rough nylon laces of my left boot. The well-worn leather
snugged around my foot. “I’m never gonna figure out anything buried in too much work plus too many bad dates.”
“When did you decide this?”
“Last night.” I shouldered my pack and adjusted the straps until the familiar weight settled on the tops of my hipbones. “What I’ve been doing isn’t working. It’s time to take a big step back and focus on myself for longer than just a few weeks.”
“I guess that’s one way to break the pattern.” Bryn opened the door and we stepped outside into early morning stillness. “And yes, a year is definitely long enough to clean your dating slate.”
Fog tendrils drifted from the Columbia River across the half-empty parking lot. The air
hung thick with moisture and cedar and the sweet mustiness of damp soil. The best smell in the world after too many days breathing city fumes.
“I sure as hell hope so. If not, at least maybe I can figure out what to do about my business. I can’t keep working this much.”
We strolled across the lot side-by-side, the chill air nipping my skin through my nylon
hiking pants and shirt, waking me up. The sky glowed marigold behind the inky silhouettes of
the mountains.
“You’ll come up with a plan. You always do.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” We crossed the empty highway, walked a few
hundred yards and turned off. Gravel crunched under our soles. “And thanks for driving me down here from Seattle. And picking me up at the other end.”
“Of course. That’s what best friends are for.” She wrapped a hand around my arm and
leaned in, hugging one of my few body parts not covered by my backpack. “Though I still wish I was going with you. I could use a break from assholes and clients, too.”
The first golden rays of sunlight slanted through the tree branches, lighting the dirt road ahead. “We’ll have to plan a girlfriends’ trip once I get back.”
“I’m holding you to that.” Her warm hand tightened on my biceps. “Maybe we can convince Aly to come with us for once.”
I snorted. “We’ll get Aly on a backpacking trip when pigs fly. But I’m all for trying.”
A handful of parked cars and a dark brown trailhead kiosk appeared, marking the southern end of the Pacific Crest Trail through Washington. And my starting point. And the start of five weeks of solitary bliss in one of my favorite places in the whole world.
Bryn pulled out her phone. “Hey. Let me grab a shot of you in front of the sign, to commemorate the moment.”
“Okay.” I took a few steps back.
“Say, single life.”
I popped a hip and smiled for the camera. “Single life.”
“Perfect.” She slipped her phone into her pocket. “I love you, girlfriend. Stay safe out there and call me whenever you hit civilization.”
“I will.” My throat tightened. “I love you, too.”
I was totally looking forward to hiking solo. To enjoying time alone and figuring out my
craptacular situation with no distractions. But, for a second, I couldn’t help wondering if I should’ve taken Bryn up on her offer to hike this first section with me. Deep down I knew it would be a distraction, though. I needed alone time, in the woods, to find my center and do a serious assessment of my life. Especially my love life. Because I kept picking the same kind of winner, over and over, and I was done losing.
“See you in a couple weeks.” With a wave, I pivoted on my heel and stepped into the emerald glow of the Pacific Northwest rainforest. Happy with my choices. And looking forward to not having to do anything, at any set time, for anyone other than me.
Cascade Locks, watching me pack gear. The thin, gray light of pre-dawn filtered through a crack in gold curtains that’d seen better days.
I tucked a bag of snacks and my rain jacket into the top of my backpack, cinched the
drawcord, and buckled the lid with a solid click. “Of what, twelve guys dumping me for their exes in a row? I’m sure we could arrange that for you too. If you ever really start dating again.”
“Ha. Funny.” She toed my calf. “You’re taking five weeks off to go backpacking solo.
Who cares why?”
Tingles of excitement zoomed around in my chest and I flashed her a grin. “Yeah.
Dealing with zero assholes and zero clients for more than a month does sound pretty heavenly, doesn’t it?”
She grinned back. “Like I said, totally jealous. At least of your trip.” Her expression went serious. “I still can’t believe the next guy you date is gonna be unlucky number thirteen, though.”
“Yeah. I’ve thought about that. Probably too much. Definitely enough to jinx the next one for sure. So, I’m swearing off men for at least a year to restart the count.” I hesitated, the excitement buzz fading. “A year is enough time to consider it a clean dating slate, right?”
“Wait. You mean you’re swearing off dating, or swearing off sex too?”
“Yes. Both. All of it.” The last eight years had been nothing but suckage on the relationship front. It’d probably take more than a year to fix my shit. But nothing would change if I didn’t change something.
Bryn eyes widened. “You’re serious.”
“Dead.” Bending, I tugged the rough nylon laces of my left boot. The well-worn leather
snugged around my foot. “I’m never gonna figure out anything buried in too much work plus too many bad dates.”
“When did you decide this?”
“Last night.” I shouldered my pack and adjusted the straps until the familiar weight settled on the tops of my hipbones. “What I’ve been doing isn’t working. It’s time to take a big step back and focus on myself for longer than just a few weeks.”
“I guess that’s one way to break the pattern.” Bryn opened the door and we stepped outside into early morning stillness. “And yes, a year is definitely long enough to clean your dating slate.”
Fog tendrils drifted from the Columbia River across the half-empty parking lot. The air
hung thick with moisture and cedar and the sweet mustiness of damp soil. The best smell in the world after too many days breathing city fumes.
“I sure as hell hope so. If not, at least maybe I can figure out what to do about my business. I can’t keep working this much.”
We strolled across the lot side-by-side, the chill air nipping my skin through my nylon
hiking pants and shirt, waking me up. The sky glowed marigold behind the inky silhouettes of
the mountains.
“You’ll come up with a plan. You always do.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” We crossed the empty highway, walked a few
hundred yards and turned off. Gravel crunched under our soles. “And thanks for driving me down here from Seattle. And picking me up at the other end.”
“Of course. That’s what best friends are for.” She wrapped a hand around my arm and
leaned in, hugging one of my few body parts not covered by my backpack. “Though I still wish I was going with you. I could use a break from assholes and clients, too.”
The first golden rays of sunlight slanted through the tree branches, lighting the dirt road ahead. “We’ll have to plan a girlfriends’ trip once I get back.”
“I’m holding you to that.” Her warm hand tightened on my biceps. “Maybe we can convince Aly to come with us for once.”
I snorted. “We’ll get Aly on a backpacking trip when pigs fly. But I’m all for trying.”
A handful of parked cars and a dark brown trailhead kiosk appeared, marking the southern end of the Pacific Crest Trail through Washington. And my starting point. And the start of five weeks of solitary bliss in one of my favorite places in the whole world.
Bryn pulled out her phone. “Hey. Let me grab a shot of you in front of the sign, to commemorate the moment.”
“Okay.” I took a few steps back.
“Say, single life.”
I popped a hip and smiled for the camera. “Single life.”
“Perfect.” She slipped her phone into her pocket. “I love you, girlfriend. Stay safe out there and call me whenever you hit civilization.”
“I will.” My throat tightened. “I love you, too.”
I was totally looking forward to hiking solo. To enjoying time alone and figuring out my
craptacular situation with no distractions. But, for a second, I couldn’t help wondering if I should’ve taken Bryn up on her offer to hike this first section with me. Deep down I knew it would be a distraction, though. I needed alone time, in the woods, to find my center and do a serious assessment of my life. Especially my love life. Because I kept picking the same kind of winner, over and over, and I was done losing.
“See you in a couple weeks.” With a wave, I pivoted on my heel and stepped into the emerald glow of the Pacific Northwest rainforest. Happy with my choices. And looking forward to not having to do anything, at any set time, for anyone other than me.
- GIVEAWAY -
 Prize One: |  Prize Two: |
To ENTER you must comment below:
1. Why do you want to read Wild at Heart?
2. Have you read Stacy Gold before?
For extra entries share this post using the Facebook and Twitter buttons below. Good luck!
WINNERS:
Gift card: Romance Reader
Free book: Molly
 | Taina Aponte, the sole survivor of an arson fire that killed her family, was taken to safety in Puerto Rico by her grandmother to escape the wholesale destruction of The Bronx. Thirty years later the witch, still haunted by her memories, is back in the hood. She's inexperienced in urban magick and ill-prepared to battle the roving gangs of dhampirs and werewolves that that set The Bronx aflame and wrested control from the police. But time is running out to find those who set the fire—and why. Taina's search for the murderers uncovers a vast werewolf/dhampir conspiracy--and an alliance of |
fae to aid in her quest for justice. But needs more than the elderly santera who teaches her mysterious Santeria rituals.
She enters into an uneasy alliance with Arnaldo Arroyo, a reformed addict turned community activist who schools her his own special mix of sex magick and brujería.
The truths she uncovers shake her faith in everything and everyone she ever knew. Will she give up and run? Or will she accept the mandate of the orishas, restore the balance between good and evil--and take back the neighborhood?
She enters into an uneasy alliance with Arnaldo Arroyo, a reformed addict turned community activist who schools her his own special mix of sex magick and brujería.
The truths she uncovers shake her faith in everything and everyone she ever knew. Will she give up and run? Or will she accept the mandate of the orishas, restore the balance between good and evil--and take back the neighborhood?
- SNEAK PEEK -
A creature, waist high to Taina, with a Cheshire-Cat grin, a British accent, two iridescent blue wings, and a squat, leaf-green body materialized. His choice bits were barely concealed by a brown rag.
“What the fuck! A fairy in this human wasteland?”
Like a true New Yorker, he ignored the duplicate expletive. “Allow me to introduce myself. Bridge Rat, minion to Hawk Claw, Fairy King of New Yorke at your service, Lady Taina. I am in charge of this sector of The Bronx. My liege lord shall arrive in a moment.”
He bowed, and his arm gestured like he was sweeping the sidewalk. “I daresay the foul language you’ve acquired in such a short time bodes well for your ability to rise to your duties.”
Tonight couldn’t get weirder. First, she’d broken some punk’s nose. Now she’d dropped the F-bomb on a fairy. Twice. She didn’t give a shit about either transgression.
“Knock it off. The only court around here is on 161st Street and the Grand Concourse. This isn’t Camelot, and I’m not a lady. I’m a woman and don’t rise to do anyone’s duty.”
The fairy rustled his wings. Magick tingled along Taina’s spine and soothed the angst roiling in her gut since she’d gotten off the plane and into that fetid yellow cab at Kennedy airport two weeks ago.
“Ah, I beg to differ, my lady.” Bridge Rat turned his eyes skyward.
A majestic ruddy hawk glided to a landing on top of Ritual Rock. Another fae-induced shiver crawled down Taina’s back like a spider.
The haughty fairy king coalesced out of a rusty dust spiral. Red hair hung in wavy tendrils over his shoulders, obscuring much of a bare chest. Pointed ears, adorned with cuffs, spikes, and jeweled earrings, wiggled. A lime-green cape swept the gum-stained asphalt as he flitted toward her, bare, six-toed feet hovering only inches above the ground, maroon and ochre wings beating like a translucent heart.
Bridge Rat announced him. “Hawk Claw, King of The Fairydom of New Yorke.”
Hawk Claw alighted, swept the cape over one shoulder, and bowed. “Hail and welcome, White Witch. Long have we awaited your return.”
Yes, this night could get even weirder. “I think you must be confusing me with someone else. I’m brown and barely a witch at all.”
“On the contrary, Lady Taina. You are just beginning to realize your powers. We trust that Sir Arnaldo will be at your side during the impending battle.”
She suppressed a giggle at that image. “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of a mystery, then get my bottom out of the Fairydom of New Yorke.”
The fairies in PR were more like fireflies, quiet, silly, tricky. Of course, everything in The Bronx mutated to the most extreme degree possible.
“Fear not, it has been foreseen and will occur.” Hawk Claw pronounced, expressionless, like one who hasn’t had good news in a long time. “Bridge Rat will summon me and the others when the time comes.” He fluttered his wings, rose into the air, and transformed back into a majestic bird as he flew west over Ritual Rock toward the Manhattan skyline.
“What the fuck! A fairy in this human wasteland?”
Like a true New Yorker, he ignored the duplicate expletive. “Allow me to introduce myself. Bridge Rat, minion to Hawk Claw, Fairy King of New Yorke at your service, Lady Taina. I am in charge of this sector of The Bronx. My liege lord shall arrive in a moment.”
He bowed, and his arm gestured like he was sweeping the sidewalk. “I daresay the foul language you’ve acquired in such a short time bodes well for your ability to rise to your duties.”
Tonight couldn’t get weirder. First, she’d broken some punk’s nose. Now she’d dropped the F-bomb on a fairy. Twice. She didn’t give a shit about either transgression.
“Knock it off. The only court around here is on 161st Street and the Grand Concourse. This isn’t Camelot, and I’m not a lady. I’m a woman and don’t rise to do anyone’s duty.”
The fairy rustled his wings. Magick tingled along Taina’s spine and soothed the angst roiling in her gut since she’d gotten off the plane and into that fetid yellow cab at Kennedy airport two weeks ago.
“Ah, I beg to differ, my lady.” Bridge Rat turned his eyes skyward.
A majestic ruddy hawk glided to a landing on top of Ritual Rock. Another fae-induced shiver crawled down Taina’s back like a spider.
The haughty fairy king coalesced out of a rusty dust spiral. Red hair hung in wavy tendrils over his shoulders, obscuring much of a bare chest. Pointed ears, adorned with cuffs, spikes, and jeweled earrings, wiggled. A lime-green cape swept the gum-stained asphalt as he flitted toward her, bare, six-toed feet hovering only inches above the ground, maroon and ochre wings beating like a translucent heart.
Bridge Rat announced him. “Hawk Claw, King of The Fairydom of New Yorke.”
Hawk Claw alighted, swept the cape over one shoulder, and bowed. “Hail and welcome, White Witch. Long have we awaited your return.”
Yes, this night could get even weirder. “I think you must be confusing me with someone else. I’m brown and barely a witch at all.”
“On the contrary, Lady Taina. You are just beginning to realize your powers. We trust that Sir Arnaldo will be at your side during the impending battle.”
She suppressed a giggle at that image. “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of a mystery, then get my bottom out of the Fairydom of New Yorke.”
The fairies in PR were more like fireflies, quiet, silly, tricky. Of course, everything in The Bronx mutated to the most extreme degree possible.
“Fear not, it has been foreseen and will occur.” Hawk Claw pronounced, expressionless, like one who hasn’t had good news in a long time. “Bridge Rat will summon me and the others when the time comes.” He fluttered his wings, rose into the air, and transformed back into a majestic bird as he flew west over Ritual Rock toward the Manhattan skyline.
- GIVEAWAY -
 Prize One: |  Prize Two: |
To ENTER comment below:
1. What did you like about the sneak peek from Void Of Course?
2. Have you read Carole Ann Moleti before?
For extra entries share this post using the Facebook and Twitter buttons below. Good luck!
WINNERS:
Gift card: Vanessa
Free book: Linda
 | A lifetime of failed relationships. One huge risk. One sexy dominating man. What could go wrong? Based on true events: After a lifetime of frogs, Tilly sets out to find her own Prince Charming. But there's a catch. She wants her Prince Charming to be the ultimate dominating man. Not sure if this is possible, she follows her best friends' advice and ditches conventional dating sites for a steamy sex dating website. However, Tilly quickly realises reality is not like the fairy tales. As she battles with her inner feminist will she ever get used to his rules? And more importantly, what is he hiding? |
Perfect for fans of steamy romantic comedies, age gaps, the miscommunication trope and elements of BDSM. Prepare to embrace your deepest desires, fall in love with the ultimate dominating guy and learn to listen to your heart along the way.
The Girl Who Jumped is a hilarious, heart-warming and surprisingly moving story of a young woman pulling herself out of her comfort zone to get the life (and sex!) she's always wanted.
The Girl Who Jumped is a hilarious, heart-warming and surprisingly moving story of a young woman pulling herself out of her comfort zone to get the life (and sex!) she's always wanted.
- SNEAK PEEK -
I had an eighty percent chance of being murdered. Mum would have a heart attack if she knew. I’d called Amelia yesterday to warn her. She’d sounded calm on the phone, if a little proud. We’d agreed she’d raise the alarm if she’d not heard from me by nine a.m. tomorrow.
Before I could start imagining my funeral, my phone vibrated in my hand: Are you on time? You may answer yes or no. I closed my eyes briefly and stopped walking but a crowd of people spilling out of the Underground, propelled me forwards. I came to the side, out of the way. I put my hand on the cold metal railings overlooking the park and breathed out shakily. I texted back, Yes.
My phone vibrated instantly, Is your heart beating quicker? I gulped. It was. The tension over the last few hours had built to a fever pitch. I was having a tough time keeping calm. I replied, Yes. It was a blunt response but he liked it that way. The deal was no initiation of conversation or long-winded replies. He had a lot of rules.
I started walking again but stopped to look up at the sun shining through the thick canopy of trees above me. The day was cold and sunny. I should be glad to be alive. The next few hours were entirely of my own making. I’d visualised what I was about to do for months, dreamed about it for years and masturbated myself to sleep thinking about it. It was supposed to be fun.
I checked my phone. I had another message: You will check in first, as you want to get ready. I replied, Yes. He answered, Do you know where to go? I rolled my eyes and texted, Yes. Of course I knew where to go. How old was he? That’s why phones existed. I’d already checked the hotel’s location this morning. It was exactly two minutes from the Underground. I typed the postcode of the hotel into the map app, just to be sure, and followed the directions out of the park and across the main road.
One minute later, I stood in front of The World’s Tallest Hotel. Ivy clambered all the way up it. I looked down at my old blue suitcase and leggings. I was massively under-dressed. There was no point backing out now, though. It was now or never.
As I pushed open the heavy glass doors, a man waiting inside in a top hat and tails bowed deeply.
“Ma’am.”
I looked behind me in confusion.
“Ma’am?”
He meant me. I didn’t realise they welcomed everyone so nicely. I wasn’t rich or a celebrity.
“Hello, thank you.” I whispered, wishing my Yorkshire accent wasn’t so strong. “I’d like to check in please.”
“Yes, just this way, ma’am.”
Before I could start imagining my funeral, my phone vibrated in my hand: Are you on time? You may answer yes or no. I closed my eyes briefly and stopped walking but a crowd of people spilling out of the Underground, propelled me forwards. I came to the side, out of the way. I put my hand on the cold metal railings overlooking the park and breathed out shakily. I texted back, Yes.
My phone vibrated instantly, Is your heart beating quicker? I gulped. It was. The tension over the last few hours had built to a fever pitch. I was having a tough time keeping calm. I replied, Yes. It was a blunt response but he liked it that way. The deal was no initiation of conversation or long-winded replies. He had a lot of rules.
I started walking again but stopped to look up at the sun shining through the thick canopy of trees above me. The day was cold and sunny. I should be glad to be alive. The next few hours were entirely of my own making. I’d visualised what I was about to do for months, dreamed about it for years and masturbated myself to sleep thinking about it. It was supposed to be fun.
I checked my phone. I had another message: You will check in first, as you want to get ready. I replied, Yes. He answered, Do you know where to go? I rolled my eyes and texted, Yes. Of course I knew where to go. How old was he? That’s why phones existed. I’d already checked the hotel’s location this morning. It was exactly two minutes from the Underground. I typed the postcode of the hotel into the map app, just to be sure, and followed the directions out of the park and across the main road.
One minute later, I stood in front of The World’s Tallest Hotel. Ivy clambered all the way up it. I looked down at my old blue suitcase and leggings. I was massively under-dressed. There was no point backing out now, though. It was now or never.
As I pushed open the heavy glass doors, a man waiting inside in a top hat and tails bowed deeply.
“Ma’am.”
I looked behind me in confusion.
“Ma’am?”
He meant me. I didn’t realise they welcomed everyone so nicely. I wasn’t rich or a celebrity.
“Hello, thank you.” I whispered, wishing my Yorkshire accent wasn’t so strong. “I’d like to check in please.”
“Yes, just this way, ma’am.”
- GIVEAWAY -
Prize One
 Prize Two (ebook) |  Prize Three |
To ENTER you must comment below:
1. What did you like best about the sneak peek of The Girl Who Jumped?
2. Have you read Matilda Swinney before?
For extra entries share this post using the Facebook and Twitter buttons below. Good luck!
WINNER:
Gift Card: Claire M.
Ecopy of The Girl Who Jumped: Shante
Prize list book: Eva
 | Roman Blinov might have rescued her this time, but Anna “Sway” Tyler isn’t about to give him what he wants or confide in him the secrets she carries. She’s on a mission, and he’s in her way. Roman doesn’t trust criminals, especially not ones who change their identity as quickly and effectively as Sway. As they say, there is no honor among thieves. Forced to work together on a mission from Interpol to capture Sway’s financier, the man who taught her everything she knows, Sway and Roman must decide if trusting each other is worth the risk. In the mean time, they’ll have to protect a wild group of orphans, secure a famous necklace, remember to |
feed an unwieldy pet, and decide if the emotions building between them are based on more than just the adrenaline and unavoidable circumstances.
- SNEAK PEEK -
“I’m going to wash all this gunk off my face and brush my teeth,” Sway said as she tucked the certificate back into the metal tube and moved toward the bedroom. “You boys don’t do anything fun or interesting while I’m gone, okay?”
He watched as she disappeared into the bedroom he’d occupied in the suite and closed the door behind her. Okay, he followed her ass as she left the room. The sweatpants he bought for her fit snugly across her hips and highlighted her tight glutes.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Huck’s gaze locked on the same view. He frowned. “Stop looking at her ass.”
“You first.”
Roman grunted. “Forget it. Just tell me how things went the rest of the night. Where’s the statue?”
“I dropped it off to Amir before I came back here. He’s going to make sure it’s returned to the museum safe and sound.” Huck moved from the door and took Sway’s vacated seat on the couch.
Roman eased into a chair to keep his limbs from going numb after kneeling on the hard floor. At thirty-six and after a few nasty jumps incurred in the pursuit of his work, his joints weren't quite what they used to be. He'd ignored the pain while between Sway's thighs--who wouldn’t?— but he had no reason to continue the torture for Huck.
“And the party?” Roman asked with a grunt as he leaned back and crossed one leg to rest his foot on the opposite knee.
“Without a hitch. Gunter’s a suspicious dick, but he didn’t cause any problems.”
"Good." Roman nodded. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to read the message.
Transpo is all clear for tomorrow. I will meet you at the airport. Excited to finally meet your favorite thief.
“Ruby says everything is clear for tomorrow.”
“What’d you get out of the little princess about the necklace?”
Roman blew out a breath and scowled as he thought back over his conversation with her earlier. “Not much. She wouldn’t even admit to having seen it, much less that she has it. I’m not really surprised, but I hoped she’d give me something. The only thing I really got from her was the sense she’s scared. It was subtle, but it was there.”
Her eyes had flared and dilated when he first mentioned the necklace. And moments ago, when he’d brought it up again, her pulse sped up, and she’d held her breath. She managed to get herself back under control quickly, but in that split second, he’d seen her fear.
“Scared? Of the people she stole it from?” Huck stretched out his legs and crossed his feet at the ankles.
“Not sure. Either that or getting caught for smuggling.”
“Come on, man. You know the girl isn’t scared of anything. She’s been stealing shit since at least her sweet sixteen. We both know it. She hasn’t once gotten caught, at least not long enough for anything to stick. So, some sob story about being terrified to go to prison? Give me a break.”
"No, I don't think that's it. I do think the necklace is a priceless antiquity and would go for a fortune on the black market. Whoever she stole it for, and Ruby thinks it was Henri Olivier, will not keep it for his girlfriend. If we can get the necklace to Ruby, she can make sure Interpol hides it away and prevents it from funding terrorism or human trafficking."
The same reason he and Huck took most jobs Ruby threw their way. Art theft made up an eight billion dollar a year industry for criminals. An industry Roman and Huck did their best to make a little smaller each year by recovering stolen goods and getting them back home. Henri Olivier had one of the most repulsive reputations among high-end lowlifes. The man had no limits, nothing he wouldn’t get involved in if it made him richer—guns, drugs, people, large-scale weapons, all of it.
Though working for Interpol only made up a small part of their recovery business, Roman figured whatever he and Huck could do to return lost treasures to their homes and put offenders like Olivier behind bars made a difference. It was a bonus that Roman’s old man was turning over in his grave every time his children brought criminals to justice and refused to cash in on stolen goods.
“So, how do we get her to talk?” Huck asked. “I don’t think your plan of sucking her tongue into your mouth was going to accomplish that.”
Roman felt the burn in his face as his cheeks flushed and cursed his complexion when Huck laughed. “I lost my head for a minute. That will not happen again.”
“Oh, I don’t think you lost your head. You were thinking with the wrong one.” Huck smirked.
Roman's felt the flush in his face and neck deepened, and he locked his jaw on a retort. What could he say? He let the little head control him. Once Sway melted against his body, his brain short-circuited as all blood flow rushed south of his belt buckle.
He still couldn't get the smell of her out of his head. He turned or moved, and the scent of spring would tease him again. Lightly floral with a bit of citrus. "Speaking of…" Roman glanced toward the still-closed bedroom door. "What is taking her so long in there?"
“Who knows what chicks do in the bathroom. Maybe she got in the shower.”
“I heard the sink run earlier, but I didn’t hear the shower turn on.” Roman sat straight up. “Do you think…”
He let the thought go unfinished as they stared at one another for a heartbeat before bolting from their seats to run through the bedroom and into the attached bathroom.
Empty.
He watched as she disappeared into the bedroom he’d occupied in the suite and closed the door behind her. Okay, he followed her ass as she left the room. The sweatpants he bought for her fit snugly across her hips and highlighted her tight glutes.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Huck’s gaze locked on the same view. He frowned. “Stop looking at her ass.”
“You first.”
Roman grunted. “Forget it. Just tell me how things went the rest of the night. Where’s the statue?”
“I dropped it off to Amir before I came back here. He’s going to make sure it’s returned to the museum safe and sound.” Huck moved from the door and took Sway’s vacated seat on the couch.
Roman eased into a chair to keep his limbs from going numb after kneeling on the hard floor. At thirty-six and after a few nasty jumps incurred in the pursuit of his work, his joints weren't quite what they used to be. He'd ignored the pain while between Sway's thighs--who wouldn’t?— but he had no reason to continue the torture for Huck.
“And the party?” Roman asked with a grunt as he leaned back and crossed one leg to rest his foot on the opposite knee.
“Without a hitch. Gunter’s a suspicious dick, but he didn’t cause any problems.”
"Good." Roman nodded. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to read the message.
Transpo is all clear for tomorrow. I will meet you at the airport. Excited to finally meet your favorite thief.
“Ruby says everything is clear for tomorrow.”
“What’d you get out of the little princess about the necklace?”
Roman blew out a breath and scowled as he thought back over his conversation with her earlier. “Not much. She wouldn’t even admit to having seen it, much less that she has it. I’m not really surprised, but I hoped she’d give me something. The only thing I really got from her was the sense she’s scared. It was subtle, but it was there.”
Her eyes had flared and dilated when he first mentioned the necklace. And moments ago, when he’d brought it up again, her pulse sped up, and she’d held her breath. She managed to get herself back under control quickly, but in that split second, he’d seen her fear.
“Scared? Of the people she stole it from?” Huck stretched out his legs and crossed his feet at the ankles.
“Not sure. Either that or getting caught for smuggling.”
“Come on, man. You know the girl isn’t scared of anything. She’s been stealing shit since at least her sweet sixteen. We both know it. She hasn’t once gotten caught, at least not long enough for anything to stick. So, some sob story about being terrified to go to prison? Give me a break.”
"No, I don't think that's it. I do think the necklace is a priceless antiquity and would go for a fortune on the black market. Whoever she stole it for, and Ruby thinks it was Henri Olivier, will not keep it for his girlfriend. If we can get the necklace to Ruby, she can make sure Interpol hides it away and prevents it from funding terrorism or human trafficking."
The same reason he and Huck took most jobs Ruby threw their way. Art theft made up an eight billion dollar a year industry for criminals. An industry Roman and Huck did their best to make a little smaller each year by recovering stolen goods and getting them back home. Henri Olivier had one of the most repulsive reputations among high-end lowlifes. The man had no limits, nothing he wouldn’t get involved in if it made him richer—guns, drugs, people, large-scale weapons, all of it.
Though working for Interpol only made up a small part of their recovery business, Roman figured whatever he and Huck could do to return lost treasures to their homes and put offenders like Olivier behind bars made a difference. It was a bonus that Roman’s old man was turning over in his grave every time his children brought criminals to justice and refused to cash in on stolen goods.
“So, how do we get her to talk?” Huck asked. “I don’t think your plan of sucking her tongue into your mouth was going to accomplish that.”
Roman felt the burn in his face as his cheeks flushed and cursed his complexion when Huck laughed. “I lost my head for a minute. That will not happen again.”
“Oh, I don’t think you lost your head. You were thinking with the wrong one.” Huck smirked.
Roman's felt the flush in his face and neck deepened, and he locked his jaw on a retort. What could he say? He let the little head control him. Once Sway melted against his body, his brain short-circuited as all blood flow rushed south of his belt buckle.
He still couldn't get the smell of her out of his head. He turned or moved, and the scent of spring would tease him again. Lightly floral with a bit of citrus. "Speaking of…" Roman glanced toward the still-closed bedroom door. "What is taking her so long in there?"
“Who knows what chicks do in the bathroom. Maybe she got in the shower.”
“I heard the sink run earlier, but I didn’t hear the shower turn on.” Roman sat straight up. “Do you think…”
He let the thought go unfinished as they stared at one another for a heartbeat before bolting from their seats to run through the bedroom and into the attached bathroom.
Empty.
- GIVEAWAY -
| Prize One |  Prize Two - worldwide |
To ENTER comment below:
1. What did you like best about the sneak peek of Stealing Chaos?
2. Have you read Sarah Leyton before?
For extra entries use the Facebook and Twitter buttons below to share. Good luck!
Winners:
Gift card: Lisa
Print copy: Vanessa
 | When she was barely eight, Mayhem’s berserker powers surfaced and wherever she went, pandemonium soon followed. To teach her control, and keep her from destroying the known universe, her fathers started a training program tailored to Mayhem’s unique talents. Now she is a formidable bounty hunter. On her twenty-first birthday, her fathers gift her with her dream vacation, which quickly turns into an unmitigated nightmare. First, she butts heads with a cranky Coletti War Commander. To complete the fiasco, the Shebu, a stone of unfathomable power, is stolen. Now Zarek, the Coletti Overlord, demands she work with the cranky |
Coletti to retrieve it, or her fathers will be imprisoned on a penal colony. Can her Berserker skills save the galaxy? Can she avoid falling in love with the smokin’ hot War Commander?
- SNEAK PEEK -
The horny males hooted and grabbed themselves. There wasn’t a female alive who found that sexy, yet they continued to do it. A few more yelled creative ways to fuck me properly.
A growl rumbled in Derek’s chest as he yanked me up.
Slipping his grip, I twirled around him like a drunken ballet dancer.
Our audience was eating it up.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Not yet.” I came to an abrupt stop. “Ready?”
“For what?” Derek asked warily.
“For this.” I climbed him like a tree, and ground sinuously against his groin. “Remember. We need to keep them distracted. Very distracted.”
“You want me to just stand here while you do your deranged nympho act?” His voice was a low, sexy growl.
“Sorta.” I gave him my Debbie Sunshine smile. “Ever danced the Tango?”
“I have.”
“Good. We’re going to start with the Tango and move on to simulating sex acts.”
Derek’s eyes narrowed. “You are bat shit crazy.”
“Am I? Or are those bastards going to be so busy watching us, they won’t notice when Zarek’s warriors arrive or Qa’a transforms into his true form. Unless you have another dance in mind?”
Derek let out a long breath. “I don’t. Let’s do it, amore mio.”
I tapped my gauntlet and hot Latin music filled the air.
Derek circled me like I was his prey and he wanted to eat every inch of me.
I darted to the left.
Derek grabbed my right hand, spun me around him and pulled me into a tight embrace. His lips brushed mine.
I jerked away.
He jerked me back, sliding his leg between mine.
The catcalls grew louder.
His large hands skimmed down my back, grabbed my hips and up I went. “It’s working,” I murmured in his ear.
Derek twirled me around his shoulders and flashed me a mental image of Zarek and Sariel at the back of the crowd. “Get ready.” He slowly slid me down his taut body, letting me feel every delicious muscle.
“I’m always ready.” Derek dipped me and lowered his head. Just before our lips met, I whispered. “I spotted Vrax. He in the first row, third seat from the left.”
One second the War Commander’s lips were on mine, the next he thrust me between his legs and hauled me back up. “I see him.” He promenaded me across the dance floor, spinning me this way and that.
I broke free and before I could make a run for it, Derek had me pinned to the floor. Damn he was fast.
Derek caged me with his arms and ground his hips against my pussy.
I writhed under him like an over-sexed whore.
The thugs went wild.
Yanking out his pistol, Baelish quickly stunned the six or more goons trying to climb onto the stage.
Derek totally ignored them and dry humped me with a great deal of vigor.
The catcalls got louder.
I pulled his head down, and gave him a long, voracious kiss.
A growl rumbled in Derek’s chest as he yanked me up.
Slipping his grip, I twirled around him like a drunken ballet dancer.
Our audience was eating it up.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Not yet.” I came to an abrupt stop. “Ready?”
“For what?” Derek asked warily.
“For this.” I climbed him like a tree, and ground sinuously against his groin. “Remember. We need to keep them distracted. Very distracted.”
“You want me to just stand here while you do your deranged nympho act?” His voice was a low, sexy growl.
“Sorta.” I gave him my Debbie Sunshine smile. “Ever danced the Tango?”
“I have.”
“Good. We’re going to start with the Tango and move on to simulating sex acts.”
Derek’s eyes narrowed. “You are bat shit crazy.”
“Am I? Or are those bastards going to be so busy watching us, they won’t notice when Zarek’s warriors arrive or Qa’a transforms into his true form. Unless you have another dance in mind?”
Derek let out a long breath. “I don’t. Let’s do it, amore mio.”
I tapped my gauntlet and hot Latin music filled the air.
Derek circled me like I was his prey and he wanted to eat every inch of me.
I darted to the left.
Derek grabbed my right hand, spun me around him and pulled me into a tight embrace. His lips brushed mine.
I jerked away.
He jerked me back, sliding his leg between mine.
The catcalls grew louder.
His large hands skimmed down my back, grabbed my hips and up I went. “It’s working,” I murmured in his ear.
Derek twirled me around his shoulders and flashed me a mental image of Zarek and Sariel at the back of the crowd. “Get ready.” He slowly slid me down his taut body, letting me feel every delicious muscle.
“I’m always ready.” Derek dipped me and lowered his head. Just before our lips met, I whispered. “I spotted Vrax. He in the first row, third seat from the left.”
One second the War Commander’s lips were on mine, the next he thrust me between his legs and hauled me back up. “I see him.” He promenaded me across the dance floor, spinning me this way and that.
I broke free and before I could make a run for it, Derek had me pinned to the floor. Damn he was fast.
Derek caged me with his arms and ground his hips against my pussy.
I writhed under him like an over-sexed whore.
The thugs went wild.
Yanking out his pistol, Baelish quickly stunned the six or more goons trying to climb onto the stage.
Derek totally ignored them and dry humped me with a great deal of vigor.
The catcalls got louder.
I pulled his head down, and gave him a long, voracious kiss.
- GIVEAWAY -
 Prize one from Gail Koger | Prize two from TBR Pile |
WINNERS:
$25 gift card: Annaleigh
$10 gift card: Caroline I.
Bonus winner for having so many entries. Free book from our prize list: Chris
To ENTER comment below:
1. What did you like about the sneak peek of Courting Mayhem?
2. Have you read Gail Koger before?
For extra entries share this post using the Facebook and Twitter buttons below. Good luck!
 | Noah Tenbey’s body and soul were torn asunder during a cavalry charge at the battle of Waterloo. A year later he’s still suffering. Fearful, his family calls in Dr. James Byrd from London, who not only helps Noah with his injuries, he also brings Noah’s heart back to life. But what life can James, the bastard son of an Earl, and Noah have together when all of society doesn’t see them as they truly are? Will they find a way to keep their love blooming, or will it wither on the vine? |
- SNEAK PEAK -
James pressed thyme into the next seed pot. “As a physician, I am wondering about the injury to your leg. May I ask what it was from? I’m suspecting a fall from a horse.”
As expected, Noah bristled. “I’ve not lost my seat since I was a boy on my first pony. I was part of the heavy calvary charge at Waterloo. We came over the ridge … and…”
“And it was bloody chaos.”
“It was. Long story short, I caught two bullets to my leg. Second killed my horse, which probably saved my life. I somehow ended up under his neck when he went down. Weight held the blood at bay until I was carried off.” He did not sound all that grateful for not having bled to death. Noah wouldn’t be the first man James had met still fighting a battle that had ended ages ago.
Noah’s head had bowed, his face hidden behind a curtain of dark hair.
James crossed his arms. “Can I see the work the field surgeon did? Out of professional curiosity, of course.” It had nothing to do with Noah removing his trousers. Not at all. It couldn’t.
“If you must.”
Those three words stabbed at James. They were resigned as if Noah had realized he was nothing but a medical oddity. The need to kneel next to him and reassure him that there was more to life than this injury was nearly overwhelming, but he couldn’t give in. He didn’t even know Noah, though that would have to change over the next few months if any progress were to be made.
James spun to his pots when Noah slid his coat and braces off his shoulder. Stabbing sage seeds into the dirt did little to distract James from the sound of Noah undoing his buttons and pushing at his trousers from his seat on the chaise.
There was a pained grunt. Another, then a resigned sigh. “I’m afraid I can’t get my trousers down myself. I’m going to need your professional assistance if you want to see what’s left of me.”
“Of course.” James tossed every thought that wasn’t clinical into a far corner of his mind. This was his patient who he’d been hired to care for. Taking a deep breath, he turned. All the air left his lungs in a rush. Noah, lips pursed, had his trousers undone and his shirt hiked up. James flexed his hands to keep his fingers from trembling as he bent over Noah, the scent of whatever fancy cologne he had on filling the air, and grasped the waistband of Noah’s trousers.
James forced his suddenly thick tongue to work. “You’ll have to lift your hips if I’m to get these down.”
Noah strung an arm over the back of the chaise. He grimaced, then hesitantly reached out. “Sorry,” he murmured as he set his other hand on James’s shoulder.
“That’s what I’m here for.” To have a good-looking man put his hands on him, that was entirely the reason he’d agreed to spend Christmastide in the countryside, not for the money. “Now up.”
Noah gripped James harder before hefting his rear a few inches off the cushion. The flash of pain on Noah’s face made James move quickly, pulling the trousers down to the man’s knees in seconds before settling him back on the chaise. James busied himself with undoing the laces at the knee of Noah’s drawers. With those loosened, there was nothing else to do besides push the fine fabric up to bare his thigh.
It was a fine, muscled leg, dusted with dark hair. The scar of the injury was far worse than James had expected. It was a pit in the thigh, not two individual wounds. He pushed his spectacles back up his nose.
“They carved out the flesh to stop the rot from spreading,” Noah said. His tone was as bored as if he was discussing the weather. “I’m told I begged them not to take my leg. I suppose I could have done so, but I don’t remember any of it.”
James sucked on his lower lip. “I don’t know how you lived.” He’d seen enough putrid wounds to know that such carving rarely worked. An amputation wouldn’t likely have been feasible, the wound was too far up the leg. So much of it would have been removed that Noah would have died from the blood loss alone.
“Hell, I don’t know how I did either.”
“I’m going to touch you now,” James said, glancing at Noah’s face.
His expression remained tight. He sat rigidly, his back ramrod straight. “You’re the physician.”
James settled his hand over the scar. It was about the size of his palm. Moving his fingers over Noah’s leg he could feel the knots in the muscle, as well as how it had healed, missing where it should be, and the wrong shape in the places it was left. The attachments to the bone must have been disrupted. There was a good chance the bone itself had been chipped or broken and deformed when it knit back together.
“I apologize,” James said. “This will be uncomfortable now but help later.” He rubbed at the knots in the muscle, smiling as they unknit under his fingers.
Noah groaned, the sound making James’s already interested cock perk up further.
“What are you doing?” Noah asked. His voice had taken on a hoarseness that hit James low in the belly.
“Sometimes a muscle will tighten up and forget to relax. I’m reminding it that’s a possibility.”
Silence descended on the greenhouse, only broken by the soft noises Noah made as James rubbed his leg.
“You intimated the bullets passed through your leg?” James asked when the worst of the knots had smoothed themselves out.
“One did. The surgeon dug out the other.”
“Where’s the other wound?” He slid his finger over the top of Noah’s leg, his fingertips trailing through the hair.
“I believe I’m tired of being poked at.” Noah pushed at James, hard enough to send him sprawling backward on the flagstones.
It didn’t hurt, and any indignity was overwhelmed by what he’d seen before Noah had gotten defensive. Noah had schooled his face well, but the cockstand that’d strained the front of his drawers spoke loudly.
James stood, dusting off his rear and turning his back as Noah got his feet under him. He pulled up his trousers in a huff.
“I’ll make you a salve for the leg, it’ll help,” James said, carefully keeping his gaze fixed on the pots with their seeds while removing his spectacles.
“You can do as you please,” Noah said. “But give up now, Doctor Byrd. You can’t fix me.”
As expected, Noah bristled. “I’ve not lost my seat since I was a boy on my first pony. I was part of the heavy calvary charge at Waterloo. We came over the ridge … and…”
“And it was bloody chaos.”
“It was. Long story short, I caught two bullets to my leg. Second killed my horse, which probably saved my life. I somehow ended up under his neck when he went down. Weight held the blood at bay until I was carried off.” He did not sound all that grateful for not having bled to death. Noah wouldn’t be the first man James had met still fighting a battle that had ended ages ago.
Noah’s head had bowed, his face hidden behind a curtain of dark hair.
James crossed his arms. “Can I see the work the field surgeon did? Out of professional curiosity, of course.” It had nothing to do with Noah removing his trousers. Not at all. It couldn’t.
“If you must.”
Those three words stabbed at James. They were resigned as if Noah had realized he was nothing but a medical oddity. The need to kneel next to him and reassure him that there was more to life than this injury was nearly overwhelming, but he couldn’t give in. He didn’t even know Noah, though that would have to change over the next few months if any progress were to be made.
James spun to his pots when Noah slid his coat and braces off his shoulder. Stabbing sage seeds into the dirt did little to distract James from the sound of Noah undoing his buttons and pushing at his trousers from his seat on the chaise.
There was a pained grunt. Another, then a resigned sigh. “I’m afraid I can’t get my trousers down myself. I’m going to need your professional assistance if you want to see what’s left of me.”
“Of course.” James tossed every thought that wasn’t clinical into a far corner of his mind. This was his patient who he’d been hired to care for. Taking a deep breath, he turned. All the air left his lungs in a rush. Noah, lips pursed, had his trousers undone and his shirt hiked up. James flexed his hands to keep his fingers from trembling as he bent over Noah, the scent of whatever fancy cologne he had on filling the air, and grasped the waistband of Noah’s trousers.
James forced his suddenly thick tongue to work. “You’ll have to lift your hips if I’m to get these down.”
Noah strung an arm over the back of the chaise. He grimaced, then hesitantly reached out. “Sorry,” he murmured as he set his other hand on James’s shoulder.
“That’s what I’m here for.” To have a good-looking man put his hands on him, that was entirely the reason he’d agreed to spend Christmastide in the countryside, not for the money. “Now up.”
Noah gripped James harder before hefting his rear a few inches off the cushion. The flash of pain on Noah’s face made James move quickly, pulling the trousers down to the man’s knees in seconds before settling him back on the chaise. James busied himself with undoing the laces at the knee of Noah’s drawers. With those loosened, there was nothing else to do besides push the fine fabric up to bare his thigh.
It was a fine, muscled leg, dusted with dark hair. The scar of the injury was far worse than James had expected. It was a pit in the thigh, not two individual wounds. He pushed his spectacles back up his nose.
“They carved out the flesh to stop the rot from spreading,” Noah said. His tone was as bored as if he was discussing the weather. “I’m told I begged them not to take my leg. I suppose I could have done so, but I don’t remember any of it.”
James sucked on his lower lip. “I don’t know how you lived.” He’d seen enough putrid wounds to know that such carving rarely worked. An amputation wouldn’t likely have been feasible, the wound was too far up the leg. So much of it would have been removed that Noah would have died from the blood loss alone.
“Hell, I don’t know how I did either.”
“I’m going to touch you now,” James said, glancing at Noah’s face.
His expression remained tight. He sat rigidly, his back ramrod straight. “You’re the physician.”
James settled his hand over the scar. It was about the size of his palm. Moving his fingers over Noah’s leg he could feel the knots in the muscle, as well as how it had healed, missing where it should be, and the wrong shape in the places it was left. The attachments to the bone must have been disrupted. There was a good chance the bone itself had been chipped or broken and deformed when it knit back together.
“I apologize,” James said. “This will be uncomfortable now but help later.” He rubbed at the knots in the muscle, smiling as they unknit under his fingers.
Noah groaned, the sound making James’s already interested cock perk up further.
“What are you doing?” Noah asked. His voice had taken on a hoarseness that hit James low in the belly.
“Sometimes a muscle will tighten up and forget to relax. I’m reminding it that’s a possibility.”
Silence descended on the greenhouse, only broken by the soft noises Noah made as James rubbed his leg.
“You intimated the bullets passed through your leg?” James asked when the worst of the knots had smoothed themselves out.
“One did. The surgeon dug out the other.”
“Where’s the other wound?” He slid his finger over the top of Noah’s leg, his fingertips trailing through the hair.
“I believe I’m tired of being poked at.” Noah pushed at James, hard enough to send him sprawling backward on the flagstones.
It didn’t hurt, and any indignity was overwhelmed by what he’d seen before Noah had gotten defensive. Noah had schooled his face well, but the cockstand that’d strained the front of his drawers spoke loudly.
James stood, dusting off his rear and turning his back as Noah got his feet under him. He pulled up his trousers in a huff.
“I’ll make you a salve for the leg, it’ll help,” James said, carefully keeping his gaze fixed on the pots with their seeds while removing his spectacles.
“You can do as you please,” Noah said. “But give up now, Doctor Byrd. You can’t fix me.”
- Giveaway -
To ENTER comment below:
1. What did you like about the sneak peek?
2. Have you read Hannah Morse before?
For extra entries share this post using the Facebook and Twitter buttons below. Good luck!
1. What did you like about the sneak peek?
2. Have you read Hannah Morse before?
For extra entries share this post using the Facebook and Twitter buttons below. Good luck!
Winner: Sarah!
 | Bell was ugly, dirty, and mean. If he had left me alone, the others would never have known I was there. I was terrified of him, yet more terrified of not being beside him. He made promises when he kidnapped me, to protect me from the others and take me home once his drug deal with the biker gang was done. The others let it be known that at any opportunity, they would rape, torture me, and kill me. Every concept of the life I’d lived was destroyed, had to be for me to survive. Oscillating back and forth from trusting Bell, believing he would take me home, to hating and wanting to see him dead, I battled with never before experienced emotions. He hurt |
me a little, to save me from worse, or so he claimed. I responded to him, telling myself I had to, not that he made me hot and wanting.
- SNEAK PEEK -
All her well-practiced composure deserted her. She jumped and ran.
No longer needing to be quiet or reach the top, he circled and caught her before she reached the bottom. One jerk at her wrist and she fell into his arms and against his chest. The smell of his unwashed body overwhelmed her sense of smell, and Annalisa turned her head away from the distasteful odor, pushing at his chest.
“You smell,” she exclaimed, in shock that anyone would allow themselves to be so offensive.
The force of her pushing against him sent her to the ground when he let go. The jolt of landing sent out a cry of surprise and pain. Indignant, she brushed dirt from her hands, telling him, “Your manners are just as bad.”
He dropped to one knee in front of her, and she shrank away from the smell. Her face distorted in disgust, and her attention centered on the small scrape on the palm of her hand.
His voice was a deep, rolling rumble. “What are you doing out here?”
She looked for and reached for her hat, telling him, “None of your business.”
He made her look at him by grabbing her wrist and twisting until she did. Annalisa knew again the fear and feeling of panic that swept over her when she first saw him close.
“What are you doing out here?”
“You’re hurting me,” she whined, prying at his fingers to loosen them.
“Answer me or I’ll hurt you a lot more.” He proved it by increasing the pressure on her wrist. “Now, what the hell are you doing out here?”
She answered as fast as she could get the words out. “Taking pictures.”
He let go and settled back on his heel to stare at her. “You damned fool.”
“I don’t know where you have the right to─”
He cut off her indignant reply. “What do you think they’d do to you if they knew you took pictures of them?”
“They should think of things like that before they take something that doesn’t belong to them.”
He shot to his feet with an explosive exclamation.
She lunged to her feet, too, backing away. “There is no need to be profane.”
“Stay where you are,” he warned quietly, staring hard at her. She took another step back. “If I have to catch you again, I might hurt you.”
“You already have.” Her posterior smarted, but she certainly would not rub it in front of him.
“Don’t you have any idea what kind of trouble you’re in?”
“I’m not. I didn’t steal a vehicle.”
He looked straight at her. “You’re in trouble, lady. I can’t let you go.”
“You can’t possibly intend to keep me against my will.”
“Yes, I do.”
She took one step back, and her hand went to her throat, clutching her shirt tighter to her neck. He laughed at her.
“Don’t worry; I don’t go in for that.”
She didn’t believe him. She ran again. He caught her in two steps, swinging his arms out and around her waist. She dropped to escape them. He caught her by her wrists, jerked her up, and turned her to face him by forcing her arms to fold behind her.
“Let go of me.”
“Quit fighting me.”
He captured both of her wrists in one of his hands, freeing one of his to grab a handful of her hair. Pulling her head back, arched her back, pressing her hips against him.
“Don’t fight me,” he ordered again.
She froze, staring up at his face. “I won’t. I swear I won’t. Just let me go.”
“I’m not going to rape you, and I won’t hurt you if you quit fighting.”
She didn’t believe him. The terrible scar across the lump on his nose, and the gap where teeth were missing told her how violent he was. She wanted away from him, and she couldn’t even pull her hips back from contact. “Take the Toyota,” she told him frantically. “Take the camera. Just let me go.”
“Straight to the police−if you made it out of here.”
“No, I won’t tell anyone.”
“What will dear hubby say when you come home without the Jeep?”
“It’s not a Jeep.”
“Jeep is close enough and don’t correct anyone else. Now answer my question.”
“I’m a widow.”
“The kids then?”
She arched violently trying to push him away. “I don’t have any children.” she screamed.
The sudden violence caught him off guard. She jerked one hand free before he recovered, but he quickly recaptured it. Within seconds, he held both wrists again in one of his hands and had her bent backward with a hold of her hair. All her efforts to free herself caused their pelvic bones to grind together. She gave up with a groan and a plea to be let loose.
They both jerked and stiffened at the sound of another voice. “Might as well, Bell. We’ll take care of her for you.”
Bell’s voice changed from rumble to growl. “Get the hell out of here, Al.”
He released her hair, freeing her enough to see who spoke. Two of them, the man in the leather vest, and the smaller, dark one watched them. They both rubbed themselves in an obvious anticipation.
Annalisa looked at Bell in wonder. For all the contact of their bodies, pressed together the way they were, he was not aroused. The other two were, showing it beneath the cloth of their jeans.
She shifted her weight, leaning toward him, taking the drag off the arm he had around her. He rewarded her by easing his grip on her wrists.
The other two saw it. “How the hell does he do it?” the smaller one demanded, though he used much more descriptive words than her mind cared to recall. She could not, even in memory, deplete all that embarrassed her, no matter how hard she tried.
No longer needing to be quiet or reach the top, he circled and caught her before she reached the bottom. One jerk at her wrist and she fell into his arms and against his chest. The smell of his unwashed body overwhelmed her sense of smell, and Annalisa turned her head away from the distasteful odor, pushing at his chest.
“You smell,” she exclaimed, in shock that anyone would allow themselves to be so offensive.
The force of her pushing against him sent her to the ground when he let go. The jolt of landing sent out a cry of surprise and pain. Indignant, she brushed dirt from her hands, telling him, “Your manners are just as bad.”
He dropped to one knee in front of her, and she shrank away from the smell. Her face distorted in disgust, and her attention centered on the small scrape on the palm of her hand.
His voice was a deep, rolling rumble. “What are you doing out here?”
She looked for and reached for her hat, telling him, “None of your business.”
He made her look at him by grabbing her wrist and twisting until she did. Annalisa knew again the fear and feeling of panic that swept over her when she first saw him close.
“What are you doing out here?”
“You’re hurting me,” she whined, prying at his fingers to loosen them.
“Answer me or I’ll hurt you a lot more.” He proved it by increasing the pressure on her wrist. “Now, what the hell are you doing out here?”
She answered as fast as she could get the words out. “Taking pictures.”
He let go and settled back on his heel to stare at her. “You damned fool.”
“I don’t know where you have the right to─”
He cut off her indignant reply. “What do you think they’d do to you if they knew you took pictures of them?”
“They should think of things like that before they take something that doesn’t belong to them.”
He shot to his feet with an explosive exclamation.
She lunged to her feet, too, backing away. “There is no need to be profane.”
“Stay where you are,” he warned quietly, staring hard at her. She took another step back. “If I have to catch you again, I might hurt you.”
“You already have.” Her posterior smarted, but she certainly would not rub it in front of him.
“Don’t you have any idea what kind of trouble you’re in?”
“I’m not. I didn’t steal a vehicle.”
He looked straight at her. “You’re in trouble, lady. I can’t let you go.”
“You can’t possibly intend to keep me against my will.”
“Yes, I do.”
She took one step back, and her hand went to her throat, clutching her shirt tighter to her neck. He laughed at her.
“Don’t worry; I don’t go in for that.”
She didn’t believe him. She ran again. He caught her in two steps, swinging his arms out and around her waist. She dropped to escape them. He caught her by her wrists, jerked her up, and turned her to face him by forcing her arms to fold behind her.
“Let go of me.”
“Quit fighting me.”
He captured both of her wrists in one of his hands, freeing one of his to grab a handful of her hair. Pulling her head back, arched her back, pressing her hips against him.
“Don’t fight me,” he ordered again.
She froze, staring up at his face. “I won’t. I swear I won’t. Just let me go.”
“I’m not going to rape you, and I won’t hurt you if you quit fighting.”
She didn’t believe him. The terrible scar across the lump on his nose, and the gap where teeth were missing told her how violent he was. She wanted away from him, and she couldn’t even pull her hips back from contact. “Take the Toyota,” she told him frantically. “Take the camera. Just let me go.”
“Straight to the police−if you made it out of here.”
“No, I won’t tell anyone.”
“What will dear hubby say when you come home without the Jeep?”
“It’s not a Jeep.”
“Jeep is close enough and don’t correct anyone else. Now answer my question.”
“I’m a widow.”
“The kids then?”
She arched violently trying to push him away. “I don’t have any children.” she screamed.
The sudden violence caught him off guard. She jerked one hand free before he recovered, but he quickly recaptured it. Within seconds, he held both wrists again in one of his hands and had her bent backward with a hold of her hair. All her efforts to free herself caused their pelvic bones to grind together. She gave up with a groan and a plea to be let loose.
They both jerked and stiffened at the sound of another voice. “Might as well, Bell. We’ll take care of her for you.”
Bell’s voice changed from rumble to growl. “Get the hell out of here, Al.”
He released her hair, freeing her enough to see who spoke. Two of them, the man in the leather vest, and the smaller, dark one watched them. They both rubbed themselves in an obvious anticipation.
Annalisa looked at Bell in wonder. For all the contact of their bodies, pressed together the way they were, he was not aroused. The other two were, showing it beneath the cloth of their jeans.
She shifted her weight, leaning toward him, taking the drag off the arm he had around her. He rewarded her by easing his grip on her wrists.
The other two saw it. “How the hell does he do it?” the smaller one demanded, though he used much more descriptive words than her mind cared to recall. She could not, even in memory, deplete all that embarrassed her, no matter how hard she tried.
- Giveaway -
Prize One
Prize Two
To ENTER comment below:
1. What did you like best about the sneak peek of Forged in Fire?
For extra entries, share this post using the Facebook and Twitter buttons below. Good luck!
WINNERS:
Gift card: Cee
Prize list book: Lisa
 | Dutiful soldier and devoted family man Callum Renwick fights to defend his country from the two opposing nations sharing its border. Following a brutal attack on his unit, he wakes up in the underground laboratory of a well-known mercenary organization. The leader of the Midnight Scorpions, Dr. Dane Zedek, informs him he was the sole survivor of the attack, and his hometown and loved ones were obliterated by enemy forces. As he processes the news of his loss, he learns he has been badly injured, and Zedek and his assistant have supplanted half his body with artificial skin and cybernetic parts. Zedek intends to train Callum to become a lethal |
assassin for him, designating the woman who coordinated the attack as his first target. While he prepares to exact his revenge, he is assigned to the care of another agent in the Scorpions’ base. Ro is brash and outspoken, yet aspects of her character remain enigmatic. Despite declaring personal relationships useless in the cold, cruel world in which they live, she invites herself into Callum’s bedroom more nights than not. In her coaching, she pushes him physically, emotionally, and sexually to mold him into the killer the organization desires.
During his quest to hunt down his nemesis, more and more of Callum’s biological body parts fail and must be replaced. In addition to dealing with his grief, he struggles to come to terms with his new appearance, functions, and responsibilities. Will he be able to transform himself into what Ro and the Midnight Scorpions need, yet still retain his humanity?
During his quest to hunt down his nemesis, more and more of Callum’s biological body parts fail and must be replaced. In addition to dealing with his grief, he struggles to come to terms with his new appearance, functions, and responsibilities. Will he be able to transform himself into what Ro and the Midnight Scorpions need, yet still retain his humanity?
- Plotting vs. Pantsing -
Or, One Book, Three Subplots
Or, One Book, Three Subplots
Spend enough time around authors and this debate is bound to come up: when you’re writing a piece of fiction, do you have a detailed outline and a strong idea of where the story is going to go (“plotting”), or do you just let the words flow onto the page and wind up wherever they take you (“pantsing”)? There’s no one right answer, and every author has their habits and processes that work best for them.
Me, I’m probably somewhere in the middle, though leaning toward the pantsing side. Sometimes I make a basic chapter outline and maybe jot down some notes at the bottom of it for upcoming scenes since I always write in order. However, I’ve written entire novels without doing any sort of concrete plotting for it. Don’t get me wrong, I usually have a general idea of where I’m going, and planning out my ideas definitely keeps me awake when I’m trying to fall asleep at night. There have been times, though, when my primary focus was getting the words on the page as quickly as possible, and then I figured I’d worry about the rest later on.
That said, Disintegration was one of those books where I needed an outline. A very brief outline, sure, but an outline nonetheless. As it’s a full-length novel, there’s a lot going on within its pages, and there are three distinct plot threads that needed to be woven together in a way that would make sense and provoke the desired response.
One of the main themes of the book is Callum’s transformation into a cyborg and his reactions as more and more of his own body needs to be replaced with artificial parts. It’s a gradual progression, and I had to get the timing right, especially toward the end where little of the original Callum remains except for his mind. This part is also heavy on the sci-fi, and I wanted to avoid any long, drawn-out explanations or info dumps in order to keep everything moving along.
Next, the aspect of the plot that really drives the story forward is Callum’s quest for revenge against the woman who orchestrated the attack which left him so badly injured. It would be a short and boring book if he just walked up to her and killed her, so I mapped out everything from his new colleagues first planting the idea in his head to his various plans to accomplish his goal.
Last, but certainly not least, the romance plot! The relationship between Callum and Ro deviated from my usual storylines, in that they start off as casual “friends with benefits” (or so Ro likes to convince herself), and then their connection deepens into something more. I won’t give away too much about the ending, but the impact of the book’s climactic scenes relies on the love between them, and I wanted to elicit a similarly strong reaction from the reader.
While each separate plot line has its own trajectory, there are instances, of course, when they influence and affect each other. Plotting all of it was a challenge at times, but I know I couldn’t have done my story justice if I didn’t have a solid plan for the way I wanted key events to play out. If this combination of sci-fi, action and adventure, and sizzling romance sounds intriguing to you, check out Disintegration today!
Me, I’m probably somewhere in the middle, though leaning toward the pantsing side. Sometimes I make a basic chapter outline and maybe jot down some notes at the bottom of it for upcoming scenes since I always write in order. However, I’ve written entire novels without doing any sort of concrete plotting for it. Don’t get me wrong, I usually have a general idea of where I’m going, and planning out my ideas definitely keeps me awake when I’m trying to fall asleep at night. There have been times, though, when my primary focus was getting the words on the page as quickly as possible, and then I figured I’d worry about the rest later on.
That said, Disintegration was one of those books where I needed an outline. A very brief outline, sure, but an outline nonetheless. As it’s a full-length novel, there’s a lot going on within its pages, and there are three distinct plot threads that needed to be woven together in a way that would make sense and provoke the desired response.
One of the main themes of the book is Callum’s transformation into a cyborg and his reactions as more and more of his own body needs to be replaced with artificial parts. It’s a gradual progression, and I had to get the timing right, especially toward the end where little of the original Callum remains except for his mind. This part is also heavy on the sci-fi, and I wanted to avoid any long, drawn-out explanations or info dumps in order to keep everything moving along.
Next, the aspect of the plot that really drives the story forward is Callum’s quest for revenge against the woman who orchestrated the attack which left him so badly injured. It would be a short and boring book if he just walked up to her and killed her, so I mapped out everything from his new colleagues first planting the idea in his head to his various plans to accomplish his goal.
Last, but certainly not least, the romance plot! The relationship between Callum and Ro deviated from my usual storylines, in that they start off as casual “friends with benefits” (or so Ro likes to convince herself), and then their connection deepens into something more. I won’t give away too much about the ending, but the impact of the book’s climactic scenes relies on the love between them, and I wanted to elicit a similarly strong reaction from the reader.
While each separate plot line has its own trajectory, there are instances, of course, when they influence and affect each other. Plotting all of it was a challenge at times, but I know I couldn’t have done my story justice if I didn’t have a solid plan for the way I wanted key events to play out. If this combination of sci-fi, action and adventure, and sizzling romance sounds intriguing to you, check out Disintegration today!
- GIVEAWAY -
Prize One - Paperback Copy
Prize Two - gift card
Prize Three - ebook
To ENTER you MUST comment below:
- What was your favorite part of the guest post?
- Have you read Thea Landen before?
For extra entries, share this post using the Facebook and Twitter buttons below. Good luck!
WINNERS:
Paperback book: Tessa
Gift card: Barbara
Prize list book: Deb
 | Drunk on love. Like a well-aged whiskey, master distiller and old-money entrepreneur Malone Kensington is elegant and refined. Unfortunately, he’s also a perfectionist who is more dedicated to the success of his generations-old company than his own love life. That company needs a public spokesman. What Colton Hale lacks in sophistication, he more than makes up for with the charisma that’s allowed him to survive on the street from a young age and charm his way into the lucrative—if overwhelming—public position at the Kensington Distillery. When Mal takes Colt under his wing, hoping to polish off his |
rough edges, opposites attract and a passionate romance blossoms despite the differences in age and background.
But can it survive a Kensington Board of Directors who believe Colt is nothing but a gold digger and a kidnapper determined to profit from the love of Mal’s life—dead or alive?
But can it survive a Kensington Board of Directors who believe Colt is nothing but a gold digger and a kidnapper determined to profit from the love of Mal’s life—dead or alive?
- Sneak Peek -
Whisky or Whiskey?
Being an author has some wonderful side-perks. One of my personal favorites is the research needed to flesh out locations and professions used in a story. I’m not a big drinker and when I began writing Whiskey and Moonshine I knew next to nothing about the process of creating these adult beverages.
The first thing I had to learn was how to properly spell the name of the spirits that were going to play an important part of the plot!
I’m sure you’ll notice the ‘e’ in whiskey. Interesting thing that ‘e’. Most of the world spells whiskey without that ‘e’, so it’s whisky to you in Canada, most of Europe, Scotland of course, and Japan. The reason for the difference is partially because of how the Gaelic language was translated to English way back when.
However, that’s not the complete tale of the badass ‘e’, and let’s face it the word whiskey with an ‘e’ looks so much more badass than when that ‘e’ is left out. There’s a much more important reason other than aesthetics. Back in the mid-eighteen-hundreds Ireland led the world in the sale of whiskey, producing something to the tune of 70% of the stuff world-wide.
Even the big Irish distillers used the spelling whisky.
There was no ‘e’ back then.
Then along came the Spirits Act passed in 1860 by the Gladstone government. For the first time whisky blends could be created using grain whisky and single malts, which was a big deal to distillers. This led to the Scotch whisky blenders to produce a very similar drink, but at a lower cost. That combined with their awesome marketing skills made a real dent in the Irish distillers’ sales. One thing led to another the Irish distillers began using ‘whiskey’ to set themselves apart from the Scottish spirit makers.
Sneaky them, creating controversy. And we all know controversy, like sex, sells.
Across The Pond (aka in the New World of North America) there were similar changes in the whisky industry. We Americans enjoy our Irish whiskey and like our Irish counterparts we’re a rebellious lot. To exploit the perceived higher quality of Irish whiskey and since it was more popular in the US, distillers here did the same thing. They added a badass ‘e’. Adding that ‘e’ also helped differentiate US from Canadian whisky producers.
There’s a whole lot more, such as the difference between Bourbon and Whiskey, but that’s a subject for another post.
What does all this have to do with my book, Whiskey and Moonshine, aside from the title? Well, since you asked! The words are representative of the main characters. Mal Kensington is the whiskey half of Whiskey and Moonshine. He’s a distiller, like his father, grandfather and generations before. He’s old money, but that doesn’t stop him from going against the grain, finding his own path and fighting for what he wants.
Like that ‘e’, he’s a little bit badass.
Here’s a modest taste of Malone Curtis Kensington, owner and master distiller of Kensington’s Distillery and Stillhouse.
~|~|~|~
Blasting around a bend, Mal nearly ran Colt over. He’d slowed to a brisk walk, head down and arms hugging himself. When the truck’s tires squealed, Colt jerked sideways.
Mal put the truck in park and rolled down the window. “Colt, you can’t walk all the way back.”
“Oh, bullshit. I’ve walked across a city before.”
“There are bears and coyotes and cougars.”
“I lived on the streets for ten years and dealt with gangs. I’ll survive,” Colt snapped.
“For God’s sake, Colt, you smell like roast beef sandwiches and three types of cheese. Every carnivore for a hundred miles is going to want a piece of that,” Mal shouted.
A deer bounded out of the woods and darted in front of Colt, then bolted across the road and into the woods on the other side. Colt yelped and jumped to the side.
“Whatever is chasing that deer isn’t going to be so picky as to pass up you and chase it,” Mal called. It was a mean and crappy thing to do, but he reasoned Colt wouldn’t know any better.
Colt turned and stared at the woods for a few seconds before running to the truck and scrambling into the passenger seat. He wrapped both arms around himself and stared straight ahead.
Mal put the truck into gear and started driving. “Colt, I—” Colt turned his head and glared at Mal, silencing him. What was he going to say? He wanted to protect Colt, not see him hurt, yet that’s exactly what he’d done. After a few minutes of silence, he knew what to say. “There is nothing in that document that can’t be negotiated. Every contract can be negotiated.”
“Signing it can be negotiated?” Colt sniped. When Mal pressed his lips together and focused out the window at the road, Colt mumbled, “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“Will you just read the whole thing? For me? Please?”
Colt shifted so his back was to Mal and stared out the passenger window for the rest of the ride home. The second Mal drove down the drive, Colt grabbed the papers, opened his door, and dropped out of the still-moving truck. He landed on his feet and hurried into the house.
Being an author has some wonderful side-perks. One of my personal favorites is the research needed to flesh out locations and professions used in a story. I’m not a big drinker and when I began writing Whiskey and Moonshine I knew next to nothing about the process of creating these adult beverages.
The first thing I had to learn was how to properly spell the name of the spirits that were going to play an important part of the plot!
I’m sure you’ll notice the ‘e’ in whiskey. Interesting thing that ‘e’. Most of the world spells whiskey without that ‘e’, so it’s whisky to you in Canada, most of Europe, Scotland of course, and Japan. The reason for the difference is partially because of how the Gaelic language was translated to English way back when.
However, that’s not the complete tale of the badass ‘e’, and let’s face it the word whiskey with an ‘e’ looks so much more badass than when that ‘e’ is left out. There’s a much more important reason other than aesthetics. Back in the mid-eighteen-hundreds Ireland led the world in the sale of whiskey, producing something to the tune of 70% of the stuff world-wide.
Even the big Irish distillers used the spelling whisky.
There was no ‘e’ back then.
Then along came the Spirits Act passed in 1860 by the Gladstone government. For the first time whisky blends could be created using grain whisky and single malts, which was a big deal to distillers. This led to the Scotch whisky blenders to produce a very similar drink, but at a lower cost. That combined with their awesome marketing skills made a real dent in the Irish distillers’ sales. One thing led to another the Irish distillers began using ‘whiskey’ to set themselves apart from the Scottish spirit makers.
Sneaky them, creating controversy. And we all know controversy, like sex, sells.
Across The Pond (aka in the New World of North America) there were similar changes in the whisky industry. We Americans enjoy our Irish whiskey and like our Irish counterparts we’re a rebellious lot. To exploit the perceived higher quality of Irish whiskey and since it was more popular in the US, distillers here did the same thing. They added a badass ‘e’. Adding that ‘e’ also helped differentiate US from Canadian whisky producers.
There’s a whole lot more, such as the difference between Bourbon and Whiskey, but that’s a subject for another post.
What does all this have to do with my book, Whiskey and Moonshine, aside from the title? Well, since you asked! The words are representative of the main characters. Mal Kensington is the whiskey half of Whiskey and Moonshine. He’s a distiller, like his father, grandfather and generations before. He’s old money, but that doesn’t stop him from going against the grain, finding his own path and fighting for what he wants.
Like that ‘e’, he’s a little bit badass.
Here’s a modest taste of Malone Curtis Kensington, owner and master distiller of Kensington’s Distillery and Stillhouse.
~|~|~|~
Blasting around a bend, Mal nearly ran Colt over. He’d slowed to a brisk walk, head down and arms hugging himself. When the truck’s tires squealed, Colt jerked sideways.
Mal put the truck in park and rolled down the window. “Colt, you can’t walk all the way back.”
“Oh, bullshit. I’ve walked across a city before.”
“There are bears and coyotes and cougars.”
“I lived on the streets for ten years and dealt with gangs. I’ll survive,” Colt snapped.
“For God’s sake, Colt, you smell like roast beef sandwiches and three types of cheese. Every carnivore for a hundred miles is going to want a piece of that,” Mal shouted.
A deer bounded out of the woods and darted in front of Colt, then bolted across the road and into the woods on the other side. Colt yelped and jumped to the side.
“Whatever is chasing that deer isn’t going to be so picky as to pass up you and chase it,” Mal called. It was a mean and crappy thing to do, but he reasoned Colt wouldn’t know any better.
Colt turned and stared at the woods for a few seconds before running to the truck and scrambling into the passenger seat. He wrapped both arms around himself and stared straight ahead.
Mal put the truck into gear and started driving. “Colt, I—” Colt turned his head and glared at Mal, silencing him. What was he going to say? He wanted to protect Colt, not see him hurt, yet that’s exactly what he’d done. After a few minutes of silence, he knew what to say. “There is nothing in that document that can’t be negotiated. Every contract can be negotiated.”
“Signing it can be negotiated?” Colt sniped. When Mal pressed his lips together and focused out the window at the road, Colt mumbled, “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“Will you just read the whole thing? For me? Please?”
Colt shifted so his back was to Mal and stared out the passenger window for the rest of the ride home. The second Mal drove down the drive, Colt grabbed the papers, opened his door, and dropped out of the still-moving truck. He landed on his feet and hurried into the house.
- GIVEAWAY -
Prize One from Elizabeth Noble
Prize Two from The TBR Pile
Prize Three
To ENTER you MUST comment below:
1. What was your favorite part of the guest post by Elizabeth Noble?
2. Have you read any of Elizabeth Noble's book and which ones?
For extra entries share this post using the Facebook and Twitter buttons below. Good luck!
1. What was your favorite part of the guest post by Elizabeth Noble?
2. Have you read any of Elizabeth Noble's book and which ones?
For extra entries share this post using the Facebook and Twitter buttons below. Good luck!
WINNERS:
Gift card from Elizabeth Noble: James
TBR gift card: Jane
Prize list book: Lisa
Two very different men with a tumultuous history must overcome challenges from all sides
Smart and sexy romance.
Remare’s first loyalty is to his lord. He can’t allow himself to care for someone Valadon has marked as his own…or can he?
ALL PRIZES MUST BE CLAIMED WITHIN A WEEK OF RECEIVING THE WINNING EMAIL.
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