tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40764047758322176812024-03-05T07:29:18.983+00:00Contemporary Fiction Network BlogLindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-86754890971978608152019-02-10T08:29:00.000+00:002019-02-10T08:29:02.171+00:00Contemporary Romance "Hearts Abroad" by Skye McNeil. Book One of Series<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG8JU6pIta9dKHbo38Ryvovd0Dr2NCwd8gqcxWYyuqWIFEOFHTHNRCec78ezE1fPf_p7uKlJB3NjcXxdR75Sv2k4ffpa-9OcpN8-kMEU16hQgEDLZMFzSt4MT1XuHJ_uNb3ifVcJJaKpA/s1600/Hearts+Abroad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="633" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG8JU6pIta9dKHbo38Ryvovd0Dr2NCwd8gqcxWYyuqWIFEOFHTHNRCec78ezE1fPf_p7uKlJB3NjcXxdR75Sv2k4ffpa-9OcpN8-kMEU16hQgEDLZMFzSt4MT1XuHJ_uNb3ifVcJJaKpA/s320/Hearts+Abroad.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "cambria" , "serif";">When a fun-loving American nanny turns a
millionaire British single dad’s world upside down, it’s inevitable life is
going to get complicated.</span></b><br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "cambria" , "serif";">Taking a break from screenwriting in New York
City, <b>Londyn Bellerose</b> takes a nannying job in Colorado to get away from
the hubbub. A summer to live without regrets is all she wants. While her boss
is British, gorgeous, and a millionaire, he has no clue how to have fun.
Determined to mend the relationship between father and daughters, Londyn
doesn’t expect to fall for the museum curator.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "cambria" , "serif";">Londyn is American and everything <b>Callum
Archer</b> swore to never fall for again. With her carefree spirit and
energetic smile, she’s perfect to nanny Callum’s two daughters. The problem is
she’s also perfect for him. She’s sassy, musical, and tends to speak her mind
more than she means to.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "cambria" , "serif";">When old history and new dreams threaten her
happily ever after, will Londyn and Callum’s love survive?</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "cambria" , "serif";">Hearts Abroad is book one in
Skye McNeil’s contemporary romance series, Atlas. Each book contains a
millionaire to envy, snort-worthy comedy, and visits to many beautiful cities
in the world. Yes, all of that, plus each novel ends with a fabulous HEA.</span></i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Hearts Abroad</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Excerpt Skye McNeil<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">An
hour later, Londyn’s arms were full of goodies while she and Callum sat on the
bench outside and watched the girls play on the monkey bars. Since the
chocolatery had a daycare for their employees, it was second nature to have
play equipment nearby, and it allowed the adults a hint of privacy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Unwrapping a caramel covered in dark
chocolate, she moaned when it hit her taste buds. “This is so good.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> “My, aren’t you a regular
chocoholic,” Callum laughed, looking over at her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Londyn chewed, then nodded. “As it
turns out, yes, I am.” She held up the bag stuffed with concoctions from the
factory sample area. She couldn’t resist filling the tote. “And I’m loading up
for a rainy day.” A drop of rain landed on her nose and she grinned. “Like
today.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> The mist didn’t seem to bother
Bethany and Bailey as they hopped toward the swing set.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Callum moved closer and peeked
inside the bag. “I think you grabbed every sample they offered.” She nodded
enthusiastically. “So, is chocolate your only vice, or are there more I should
know about?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> She liked this side of him. He
wasn’t uptight or worried about appearances. His slight teasing and gentlemanly
manners throughout the tour baffled her. <i>I
mean, what man holds my hand to make sure I get down the steps without tripping?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> “Mostly chocolate.” She held out a
piece of nougat, but he declined. “I live by the three Cs.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Callum’s light eyebrows furrowed.
“And they are?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> She held up three fingers and ticked
them off as she spoke. “Chocolate, Chinese food, and chick flicks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> “Ah yes, the trifecta,” he teased. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> “I’m serious.” She crumpled a
wrapper and playfully tossed it at him. “If I ever come across a problem, I use
the three Cs.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Laughing outright, Callum stole the
tote and clucked his tongue at the numerous empty candies. “And what happens if
they don’t do the trick?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> “Hmm, well I don’t know. It’s never
happened before.” She scratched her head. The mere thought disturbed her.
Everything could be solved with either chocolate, Chinese, or chick flicks. She
just knew it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> He stood and offered his hand.
“Perhaps you need to find a few more Cs, Miss Bellerose, for surely such a time
will come.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Taking his hand, she stood to her
full height, only a few inches shorter than him. She rather liked looking up to
a guy for a change. When he didn’t immediately drop her hand, her heartbeat
quickened. “Perhaps you’re right, Mr. Archer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.33px;">Skye McNeil</span></div>
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<div style="font-size: 13.33px;">
<i style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Author of Romantic Suspense & Contemporary Romance novels that are smart, sexy, and sassy.</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.skyemcneil.com/" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" style="color: #338fe9; outline-width: 0px;" target="_blank">www.skyemcneil.com</a></div>
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Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-44523220703109794932018-08-28T00:00:00.000+01:002018-08-28T00:00:08.098+01:00The Artisan Heart by Dean Mayes. A story of love and betrayal in contemporary Australia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>The Artisan Heart </b>by
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"Hayden Luschcombe is a brilliant paediatrician living
in Adelaide with his wife Bernadette, an ambitious event planner. His life
consists of soul-wrenching days at the hospital and tedious evenings attending the
lavish parties organised by Bernadette.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When an act of betrayal coincides with a traumatic
confrontation, Hayden flees Adelaide, his life in ruins. His destination is
Walhalla, nestled in Australia’s southern mountains, where he finds his
childhood home falling apart. With nothing to return to, he stays, and begins
to pick up the pieces of his life by fixing up the house his parents left
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A chance encounter with a precocious and deaf young girl
introduces Hayden to Isabelle Sampi, a struggling artisan baker. While
single-handedly raising her daughter, Genevieve, and trying to resurrect a
bakery, Isabelle has no time for matters of the heart. Yet the presence of the
handsome doctor challenges her resolve. Likewise, Hayden, protective of his own
fractured heart, finds something in Isabelle that awakens dormant feelings of
his own.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As their attraction grows, and the past threatens their
chance at happiness, both Hayden and Isabelle will have to confront long-buried
truths if they are ever to embrace a future."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><b>The Artisan Heart
– Excerpt.</b></span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"> Having climbed down from the roof,
Hayden went to the back veranda, where he had positioned two workhorses. A good
sheet of corrugated iron lay over them. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">His failed attempt at turning the leg for
Bernadette's chair taunted him suddenly, but he brushed it aside. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"I can do this," he growled.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Stuffing a handful of nails into his tool belt,
he returned to the ladder with the new sheet and climbed up to the roof. Hayden
manipulated the sheet into position, until finally it slotted into place.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">A snug fit</span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">, he mused, impressed with himself as he secured
the sheet to the timbers. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">He almost couldn't believe how easy it was.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"Handier than I thought."</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Hayden leaned back and wiped his brow. His eyes
drifted north along the road as it wound its way out of town. A grubby
four-wheel drive appeared around a far bend, its tray piled high with
firewood–so high, in fact, the vehicle slewed over the road under the weight.
As it drew closer, Hayden noted it was moving with considerable speed. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">He shook his head. There was only one person in
the mountains drove like that.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"Charlie Kraetzer." </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">The vehicle's horn began to blast, echoing
through the valley. At first, Hayden frowned, thinking it was meant it for him,
and he raised his hand in a hesitant wave. As he prepared to turn back to his
work, the vehicle's headlights flickered, their high beams shining bright in
the daylight. Hayden watched as the crazy vehicle continued to honk and flash.
Glancing down over the front of the cottage, he saw a small figure dressed in
bright yellow, standing in the middle of the road.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">A child!</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">He gasped, dropping the hammer. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Without thinking, Hayden pushed forward and slid
down the roof, his body accelerating on the slippery iron. Realising he was out
of control, he grasped at empty air, scrambling to arrest his slide. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"Oh God!"</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Puffing his cheeks, he sailed over the edge of
the veranda. Hayden grasped at the air, somehow managing to grab a length of
guttering as he dropped. He pulled it with him as he fell in a heap on the
steps below. Despite the explosion of stars he saw bursting before him, he did
not wait.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">He sprang to his feet, careened down the steps
and burst through the gate, locking his sights onto the tiny figure in the
road. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">He baulked when the child whipped a long object
into view, oblivious to the four-wheel drive that was bearing down on them–a
steel beast hell-bent on murder.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Hayden swept the child up in one arm without
breaking stride. A scream of tyres on bitumen split the air and the truck
veered at the last moment, close enough that Hayden felt its slipstream. It
swerved, bouncing over the verge, and ploughed into the cottage fence, widening
the area of damage. The engine gave one last scream of protest as the wheels
spun, kicking mud and grass into the air, then it fell silent.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Clutching the child, Hayden skidded on the
bitumen and he gaped, unable to stop himself from crashing into the bush. He
collided with a thick branch, taking in a mouthful of hibiscus flowers and
foliage as he collapsed to the ground, landing squarely on his behind.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Hayden shook his head as the child wriggled from
his grip.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">The door of the four-wheel drive snapped open
behind him and a heretical voice shouted from within. "<i>Qu'est-ce que tu
fais</i><i>?!</i>"</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Planting his hands on the road surface, Hayden
pushed back, extricating himself from the bush. Once free, he tried to get to
his feet but his hands slipped and he flopped uselessly like a fish out of
water. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Is everything in this place wet!?</span></i><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Suddenly, Hayden found himself glaring up into a
wild and muddy face framed with wild ginger hair and a large, bushy moustache.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">The rage that had infused the new arrival's
expression vanished and was instead replaced by a look of amazement. "<i>Mon
ami! C'est toi! Hayden! Tu es ici!</i>”</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Chas Kraetzer grabbed his arm in calloused hands
and dragged him to his feet. Hayden had no choice but to let him. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Finally upright, the world began to spin as he
steadied himself against the exuberant Frenchman, the stench of halitosis and
alcohol emanating from his bucktoothed grin. Hayden batted his hand in front of
his face. "My God, Charlie! Do you bathe in a whisky still?"</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Chas Kraetzer broadened his stupid grin, slapping
Hayden's shoulder. "Bloody hell, it's good to see you, Doc!" he
crowed in his thick accent. "I saw your Holden just the other day. Looks
like I did a better job on your fence than you did, eh?"</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Hayden glared at Kraetzer. "Did you not see
a child in the middle of the bloody road? You didn't think to slow down?"</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">The Frenchman's visage fell and his expression
morphed into a pained mortification, as though realisation had just hit him
square in the chest. He opened his mouth to give voice to it, but Hayden turned
on his heel.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Max jogged into view around the bend from the
town centre with Sam trotting along beside him, barking joyfully. People from
the houses nearby appeared in their gardens, peering out to see what all the
commotion was. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">The child was no longer in his arms. Shaking his
head, he searched around him.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"Where'd that–"</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">A flash of yellow caught his attention and he
squinted, seeing a form crouching low in the hibiscus. Bending low, he leaned
through the foliage. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">The wide-brimmed hat was pulled low over the
child’s face and the jacket covered the small frame. It was clear he, or she, was trembling.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"Are you all right?" Hayden asked,
moving sideways and back again in attempt to see him or her. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">There was no response. Glancing to his right,
Hayden saw Chas's look of amusement, as though this was nothing more dramatic
than a game of hide-and-seek.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Hayden leaned in further. "Hello
there," he called, keeping his voice low. "Everything's okay. You can
come out now. We just want to make sure you're not hurt."</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">The child did not move.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"Maybe offer him a sweet or something,"
Chas suggested. "I don't think that's going to make matters any–"</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Without warning, a bloodcurdling scream tore at
the air and the child exploded from the bush. Reacting belatedly, Hayden
backpedalled, but he fell as the half-wall of yellow came at him. He yelped as
one end of the broomstick thwacked down hard on his head. Chas's cheeks bulged
as he leapt out of the way.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Hayden brought his hands up to protect himself
from the relentless blows. The child seemed determined to beat the living
daylights out of him. He tried to escape but he slipped on the bitumen.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">A small booted foot smashed down dead centre in
his groin and he croaked. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Chas’s loud cackle ceased abruptly and he sucked
in a breath at seeing Hayden crumple. He was compelled to action. As he grabbed
the child up and away from Hayden, the yellow hat flew off, revealing a
cherubic face with wide, dark eyes and a mop of auburn curls. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Max rushed to Hayden's aid as the child bucked
and kicked in Chas's grip, screaming in fury. She swung the makeshift weapon,
clocking Chas in the side of his head. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"Oww!" he cried, as she struggled free
and dropped to the road in a heap. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Hayden had recovered enough to clamber to his
haunches with Max's assistance. He winced, holding his groin. Looking down at
the road, he saw the girl’s discarded weapon, with its sodden paper mask and
bright marker colours now running. He turned to the child, who was panting
where she sat, glowering at him.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Max glanced across at Chas. "Get on the UHF
and radio Isabelle," he snapped. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">The Frenchman complied without protest. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Hayden glared at the child. "That
hurt," he growled. "Why did you do that? I was trying to help."</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">The girl stared at him.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"Not much use asking her questions,"
Max offered. "She won't be able to answer."</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Hayden looked blankly at Max. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"She's deaf," Max continued. "Has
been most of her life."</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Max leaned in and helped Hayden to his feet, then
stepped across to the child and held out his hands. Much to Hayden's surprise,
the child got to her feet and stood close to Max's side.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"This is Genevieve Sampi," Max
introduced with a formal flourish. "Genevieve is Isabelle Sampi's
daughter."</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Hayden was puzzled. The name didn't immediately
register.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"Isabelle Sampi," Max repeated.
"Surely you'd remember her. Rex and Charmaine's granddaughter. They bought
the old bakery building after it closed down."</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"No," Hayden wheezed, resting his hands
on his knees. "Can't say I do."</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Chas returned from the truck. "She's on her
way," he said cheerily, rocking on the balls of his feet. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Hayden bit his lip against the lie he had just
told.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Great,</span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"> he thought darkly, indeed knowing that name very
well once the connection had been made. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Isabelle Sampi.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Max waved at the residents opposite.
"Everything's all right, Hermione! All sorted here."</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">He stooped to pick up a cooler bag he'd dropped
on the road, along with Genevieve's abandoned weapon. He held out his hand to
her. "Perhaps we should get off the road in case any more <i>drunk drivers</i>
come barrelling out of the mountains."</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Chas fidgeted as they stepped over to the grass
in front of the cottage.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"In fact, if I were you, Charlie
Kraetzer," Max continued. "I would make yourself scarce before
Isabelle gets here and kicks your arse." </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">The colour drained from the Frenchman's face.
Without another thought, he turned and climbed into his vehicle. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">The truck started and he was able to reverse it
back onto the road without trouble. Beaming through the window, Chas Kraetzer
pointed. "Don't worry about your fence, Doc! I'll bring some timbers up to
you tomorrow. I'll repair it myself. <i>A bientôt!"</i></span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">With a theatrical salute, Chas gunned the engine
and took off in a cloud of diesel smoke.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Brushing himself down, Hayden limped over to the
front steps and sat down. "That girl has a killer kick," he hissed. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">As they appraised the child, Max brought his
hands together in front of him and began twisting and turning his fingers. She
studied him while Hayden cocked his head. At the conclusion of this strange
little dance, Max looked to her, as if to question the adequacy of his
gestures. The child's face broke into a cheeky grin and she gave him a
thumbs-up.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"Seems she appreciated your comment about
her kick." Max observed. "I picked up a fair bit of Auslan from your
mum over the years, but I've let my skills lapse since...you know." He
gestured towards the girl. "Genie is teaching me again."</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Hayden's brow flickered. Bringing his hands up,
he held them out towards her. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">"<i>What
did you think you were doing, marching out into the middle of the road?</i>"
he signed.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Genevieve Sampi blinked and she was unsure of
where to look. She was surprised at his ability to sign. She retreated further
behind Max, though she kept her eyes on Hayden.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Max signalled at Hayden's hands. "Whatever
you said, it put the wind up her."</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"> Hayden sat straighter, examining the
quivering child. "<i>Are you all right?</i>"
he signed with less rancour. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;">Genevieve blinked, but did not respond.</span><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/37836490-the-artisan-heart" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank">https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/37836490-the-artisan-heart</a></div>
Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-69030785905207693792018-01-31T08:47:00.000+00:002018-01-31T08:47:01.556+00:00"The Maze Effect: Finding Mr Right" by Majel Jay. Contemporary Romance <div id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1517387520662_5961" style="color: #26282a; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1517387520662_5978"><span id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1517387520662_5977" style="color: #111111;">The Maze Effect: Finding Mr. Right</span></b><span id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1517387520662_5976" style="color: #111111;"><br />by Majel Jay </span></span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1517387520662_5949" style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Every woman wants the perfect man... or at the very least, a decent man.</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b>“Mr. Right”<br />How do you find him?<br />What does he look like?<br />Is there a formula to know who he is?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Just ask Kimberly Kay Nezda, a successful young diva with a budding career in a big city. She had it all or so she thought. She had many encounters and was confident she had finally found Mr. Right.<br />A rich, handsome, suitor, the mark of perfection, but did she let him walk “The Maze?”<br />Was it the perfect love story or the perfect storm?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />The Maze Effect is a steamy, riveting, short story about dating, sex and falling in love. You’ll be captivated as you read Kimberly’s story of an epic life-changing journey into love and finding Mr. Right.<br /><br /><b>Excerpt:</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b>“Yes, yes, very sweet and endearing, now please leave, the dog is drinking up all the milk and I gotta go!” I began pushing the door close with him on the other side. Damn, it wouldn’t move. Did he have his damn foot stuck in it or what? That’s a serial killer move!! Shit, what did I get myself into now and where is my damn rape whistle!!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: #111111;">The Maze Effect: Finding Mr. Right</span></b><span style="color: #111111;"><br />by Majel Jay </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><b>Link</b></span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13px;">:</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"> </span><span id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1517387520662_10743" style="color: #111111;"><a href="http://a.co/fzMRUV5" id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1517387520662_10742" rel="noreferrer" shape="rect" style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-position: 0% 0%; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">http://a.co/fzMRUV5</a></span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: #333333;">ASIN:</span></b><span style="color: #333333;"> B0792656KC</span></span></div>
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Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-37956132737253618522017-11-26T15:47:00.000+00:002017-11-26T15:47:02.603+00:00FREE KINDLE EBOOKS! MODERN ROMANCE AUTHOR MIA MAE LYNNE <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1511703363909_3934" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Mia Mae Lynne is a self-published independent author of the multicultural romance series “Southern Men Don’t Fall In Love” It is based around metro Atlanta, GA. Main characters appear in and out of other books in the series. It’s about romance, family and relationships. </span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1511703363909_3944" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">If you are able to receive books in the Kindle format, below are links to free downloads so romance readers can mark their calendars and receive the titles. </span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1511703363909_3997" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Upcoming Kindle Free promotions are listed below. </span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1511703363909_3995" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Atlanta’s Most Eligible Bachelor (254 pages) – November 30 – December 2<sup>nd</sup> (Pretty Clean)</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Atlantas-Most-Eligible-Bachelor-Southern-ebook/dp/B01744LN8M/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1511201935&sr=8-1&keywords=Atlanta%27s+Most+Eligible+Bachelor" id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1511703363909_4011" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.amazon.com/Atlantas-Most-Eligible-Bachelor-Southern-ebook/dp/B01744LN8M/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1511201935&sr=8-1&keywords=Atlanta%27s+Most+Eligible+Bachelor</a></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1511703363909_4014" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Douglas Arthur Bader “Atlanta’s Most Eligible Bachelor” has it all. His career was on the rise at Whitman Stacks, LLC., a law firm located on the perimeter of Atlanta. His cell phone rang constantly of women who wanted to possess the man with deep blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. Women of all ages fell for his boyishly handsome good looks and his impeccable manners. He was elusive to any type of commitment. “Three date max” was his motto until crossing paths with Lisa Dunbar. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1511703363909_4017" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Lisa Dunbar After a moderately successful career as a traveling professional soccer player, Lisa has finally come home to settle down and start her career as a newly licensed CPA in Atlanta. She is hired at Grant & Co. CPA’s by Mona Grant. Staunchly independent, Lisa takes life’s challenges as they come. She’s satisfied with her single status as an African American woman and has no time to look for love. Her chance meeting with a man that she only knows as a commitment phobic bachelor alters her plans for her future. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The meeting, explosive. The romance intense. This first book in the “Southern Men Don’t Fall In Love” series explores how fate can set the time and place for a romance to begin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Atlanta’s Most Eligible Bachelor II (201 pages) – December 8 – 10 – (Sketchy clean – Not Clean)</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Atlantas-Most-Eligible-Bachelor-Southern-ebook/dp/B01E9NMGW8/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.amazon.com/Atlantas-Most-Eligible-Bachelor-Southern-ebook/dp/B01E9NMGW8/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8</a></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1511703363909_4019" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Beautiful and successful, Lisa Dunbar didn’t need anyone or want anyone until she met Doug Bader, Atlanta’s Most Eligible Bachelor. The lawyer was nothing that she thought she’d ever want. Stuck up, conceited, commitment phobic, and white. When she said it was over to her family, she never expected for him to propose that same week. And never expected that she’d say yes so easily to his Southern charm.<br /><br />Doug Bader, pride of Whitman Stacks’ legal team, has never been more serious than the moment he asked Lisa to marry him. And he couldn’t be happier about that choice. With her smart attitude, strong personality, and deep convictions, she’s the perfect woman for him, no matter what anyone says about the color of her skin. <br />But now, with unexpected news on the way and their families weighing in on the intensity of their relationship, will the love Doug and Lisa share between them be enough to withstand the wait to their wedding, or will their Southern Romance fizzle and burn out under the hot Atlanta sun?</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1511703363909_4045" style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>Thank you for considering my books and please share the opportunity with others. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>Take Care and Happy Reading</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>Mia Mae Lynne</i></span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1511703363909_4025" style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14592772.Mia_Mae_Lynne" id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1511703363909_4024" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14592772.Mia_Mae_Lynne</a></span></div>
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Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-22505880450959996562017-06-22T01:50:00.002+01:002017-06-22T01:50:33.252+01:00Bound To Them by Peyton Brittany Clarke- He's A Sub With A Past #BDSM #Cowboys #RomanceNovel #MMF<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>[Siren Menage Amour: Erotic Consensual Cowboy BDSM Menage a Trois Romance, M/M/F, HEA]</i></div>
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Jake Hargate is a man with a past. Born into a rich and powerful political family in Massachusetts, they were all raised to believe one thing: protect the family's interests at all costs. After leaving that life behind, Jake finds love and happiness married to Max Krause, a Dom, and Ally Renjel, a submissive. Being Max's submissive gives Jake the security he needs, and topping Ally gives him the control he craves.</div>
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But when a political scandal threatens to ruin Jake's brother, a prominent governor who hopes to move up the political ladder, Jake is drawn into a dark world of vengeance he swore he'd never enter again. Jake's family gives him a choice: help them or risk the life he cherishes with Max and Ally.</div>
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Deciding to do whatever it takes to protect Max and Ally, Jake is drawn into a world of darkness. Will Max and Ally be able to rescue him, or will Jake be lost forever?</div>
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<b>Note: This book contains double vaginal penetration. </b></div>
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<i>A Siren Erotic Romance</i></div>
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<b>STORY EXCERPT</b></div>
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Lear went to his favorite chair and sat down. He leaned back, crossed one leg over the other, and tapped his fingers on his thigh. If Baldwin’s marriage fell apart, his own life would go to crap. Not only would he be out of a very cushy, well paying job but he’d also lose access to the best pussy he’d had in a long time and the child it produced.</div>
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It was better for everyone to keep everything moving forward as planned. And in order to do that they had to make sure the public kept believing that Baldwin and Eleanor were happy and very much in love despite the rumors. Problem was Phoebe Jones was determined to get to the bottom of this affair thing and ferret out the truth.</div>
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“Phoebe may be snooping around, but she doesn’t know anything yet.”</div>
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“Tell that to my press secretary,” Baldwin said dryly. “She’s been fielding calls from that woman every day. And we’re both tired of it.”</div>
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I bet you are. It’s probably because it’s interrupting your fuck sessions.</div>
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“Really? I thought you liked having a reporter on your ass day and night.” Lear grinned savoring the little jab. His brother was a namby-pamby, he needed to have a little dirt shoved in his face on occasion.</div>
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As Baldwin’s senior adviser, aka crisis manager, it was his job to watch Baldwin’s back at all times. When there was trouble, he handled it. Why this escaped Baldwin’s brain now irked him.</div>
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“Fuck you too, Lear.”</div>
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“Whatever.” Lear checked his watch. He hoped he’d be able to get the airport early, so they could take off ahead of schedule. He reasoned it wouldn’t matter too much if he was late since he was using Baldwin’s private jet. “Are you done losing your mind? Because I have a job to do so back off and let me do it.”</div>
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He pulled the phone away from his ear while his brother yelled and ranted. He rolled his eyes as he waited for his brother’s caterwauling to end.</div>
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“Feel better?” Lear asked.</div>
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“For now, assuming you do your damn job,” Baldwin said. “How are you going to fix this?”</div>
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“Do you really want to know, or do you want to see the result?”</div>
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“Of course I want to know,” Baldwin snapped. “That’s why I’m talking to you.”</div>
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A smart politician would have said no, preferring to keep his hands clean, but not Baldwin. He was too controlling for his own good. In forty-two years, Baldwin had not changed one bit. He was still as high-handed as ever despite the everyman persona he showed to the public. His arrogant and dictatorial manner was legendary among his staffers and the servants that kept his house in tip top shape.</div>
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Lear knew Baldwin thought of him as just another lackey to do his bidding and not a partner in his bid for the White House. If there weren’t bigger things at stake, he would have dropped Baldwin a long time ago, leaving the asshole and his lofty political ambitions far behind.</div>
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“I’m going to use Dalcourt,” Lear said.</div>
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“What about him?” Baldwin asked.</div>
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“He’ll get that reporter and anyone else she’s alerted off of your back,” Lear said. “They’ll be too busy tearing apart his life to even think about you or your...friend.”</div>
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“Dalcourt is your big solution? I knew I should have went with Smith.”</div>
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“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Lear asked.</div>
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“It means it’s a stupid idea. He’s not going to roll over and play dead for you,” Baldwin said.</div>
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“Yes he will,” Lear said. My talent is wasted working for him.</div>
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“Why?”</div>
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“Because he will. God, man you are infuriating. Father always said you had the brain of an ox.”</div>
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“I won’t say what he said about you. Mostly because it will piss you off too much and I still need your help.”</div>
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Lear sighed. “My God you are a pain in the ass.”</div>
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“Are you just going to give that reporter Dalcourt’s name and address and hope for the best?” His tone walked the line between bitterness and incredulity.</div>
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“No. A little birdie is going to tell her that I’m leaving town and that it has something to do with this affair thing. Naturally she’ll follow me, I’ll get her to meet me and then I’ll dangle our little brother in her face. The story will be so juicy she’ll have to bite.”</div>
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“Why don’t you do that here?” Baldwin asked.</div>
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“Dalcourt doesn’t live here. He lives in some dinky town in Wyoming called Wildsage. And I’m luring her to Wyoming to make sure she does her job and latches on to him, there. I can’t risk her getting distracted by you and your antics.”</div>
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“What if she refuses to bite and decides to return here?” Baldwin asked. The uncharacteristic fear in his voice was unnerving.</div>
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“She won’t. If you knew what I know about Dalcourt, you’d be drooling over this too,” Lear said.</div>
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“Finding dirt on Dalcourt is damn near impossible. He’s too shadowy,” Baldwin said. “You have got to tell me what you have on him.”</div>
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“I can’t. I’ve already said too much. The less you know about this the better it is for you and me.”</div>
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Baldwin laughed even louder. “You think that little pipsqueak scares me?”</div>
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“I didn’t say that. It’s my job to make sure your name stays out of these things and that’s what I’m doing.”</div>
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“Okay, okay.” Baldwin fell silent. “Once he finds out you that you’ve fucked him, he’s going to be pissed.”</div>
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“He won’t find out unless you tell him,” Lear said.</div>
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“I’m not going to tell him. But he will find out nevertheless. Doing that sort of thing was his job remember?”</div>
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“Okay so what if he does,” Lear said.</div>
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“You just need to be prepared.”</div>
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“I am because I know how to get him where he hurts,” Lear said.</div>
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“What if he manages to get that reporter off his trail?”</div>
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“He’ll have no choice but to do what I say if he knows what’s best for him,” Lear said.</div>
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“You’re a killer Lear, you know that don’t you.”</div>
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“That’s why you have me on your team,” Lear replied.</div>
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“Dalcourt’s our brother, why would you even think about doing that to him?” Baldwin asked.</div>
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We all have to make sacrifices for the family and it’s time he made his. “Don’t worry about it. I have to go or else I’ll miss my flight. I’ll talk to you later.”</div>
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Lear ended the call and glanced at his luggage beside the front door. He checked his watch. He had just enough time to get to the airport, to check in and head to the bar for a drink. He needed a few drinks before he dealt with his younger brother.</div>
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Blindfolded Jake sat on his haunches. He felt a gentle brush of his Master’s finger across his chin.</div>
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“Relax Orchid,” Max said. “I can see the tension rising in your shoulders.”</div>
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“Yes, Master,” Jake replied with a sigh. He opened his thoughts to the messages his body was sending to his brain. The gentle sting of the rough rope entwined around his wrists as they lay nestled in the crevice of his upper back.</div>
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Jake inhaled deeply and centered his mind concentrating on the sensation of his body as he knelt on the floor. The plush, soft carpet enveloped his knees. It smelled of fresh flowers from the cleaner that their wife loved to use. He adjusted his position on the carpet, spreading his legs farther apart further increasing the tension on his legs. He groaned with pleasure, then flexed his chest and back muscles. Stimulated to the fullest, his mind threatened to overload.</div>
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“Orchid focus on my loving embrace,” Max said.</div>
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Jake sighed. “Yes Master.”</div>
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Stay in the present. Bondage had been the best thing Max had given him for handling his anxieties. Throughout their training, Max said the core of Jake’s anxiety was rooted in his tendency to stray away from the moment.</div>
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The rope around his torso tightened. Not enough to restrict his breathing but just enough to send waves of arousal to his dick. Instantly, all errant thoughts fled his mind.</div>
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“I love you Master,” he said.</div>
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“I love you too Orchid,” Max replied.</div>
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Jake tilted his head to one side. Master’s clean fresh scent wafted to his nose. Heat spread across his cheeks and his heart fluttered. He realized Max was inches away from. His hot breath dusted Jake’s cheek. It moved then he felt firm lips touch his. Jake opened his mouth, and Max’s tongue slid inside. Sweet and gentle, the kiss made his body tingle and his cock pulse. His hands, though bound elegantly behind his back with rope, tensed as he fought the urge to try to break free of his bonds and give his Master a passionate kiss.</div>
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He opened his eyes as Max pulled away. Jake mewled his protest. His cock was harder than before and he wanted more. He grimaced in order to maintain control.</div>
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“No,” Max said sharply.</div>
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A wave of adrenaline surged through his body. Jake allowed his head to fall back, as his eyes closed and his mouth opened. A calloused fingertip brushed lightly against his cheek.</div>
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“Enjoy my love,” Max said. His deep baritone voice melted Jake’s soul. “I’ll come back to you in a moment.”</div>
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Jake listened as Max expertly untied the ropes around Ally. She moaned softly as Max kneaded her skin. After a while, he heard her contented sigh.</div>
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“How do you feel?” Max asked.</div>
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“Good,” Ally said with a dulcet tone.</div>
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“Present yourself to me,” Max said.</div>
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Jake heard the gentle thud of Max’s feet as he walked to him.</div>
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“Orchid,” Max said.</div>
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“Yes Master?”</div>
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“Time to move on, come back to me,” Max said.</div>
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“Okay,” Jake replied.</div>
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Max removed the blindfold. Jake opened his eyes. The world around him seemed brighter. The colors more distinct. Max loosened the knots and deftly unwound the rope from Jake’s torso. Max set the jute rope aside and massaged Jake’s chest and arms. They sprang back to life this time bringing forth a surge of energy.</div>
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“Oh God,” Jake yelped.</div>
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His body was on fire with need. He craved his Master’s touch.</div>
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“You feel it,” Max said.</div>
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“I need you so badly, please give me more pleasure. Fuck me please,” Jake said practically whining.</div>
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“I will. But not yet.”</div>
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Max massaged his chest and back. His calloused hands were like sand paper further stimulating him. Max’s hands traveled the length of his arms and legs, grazing Jake’s aching dick.</div>
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“How do you feel?” Max asked.</div>
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“Good. Master, I want more.”</div>
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“I know you do. I will give it to you in time. But first you must pleasure me. Go to the bed.”</div>
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Jake did as was told. Once on the bed, he smiled, happy that he was able to serve Max.</div>
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“Flower suck Jake’s cock first, don’t stop until I tell you,” Max said. “Keep going until he’s on the verge. Jake, you are not to cum. Your orgasms are mine. Your cum is mine. You cannot shoot your load until I tell you. No matter what your body demands, ignore it and obey me.”</div>
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Jake licked his lips and nodded.</div>
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“You may proceed Ally,” Max said.</div>
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Jake gasped as her lips wrapped around his dick. His opened his mouth and let his head fall back as she worked his shaft with her tongue. Max licked and nipped his neck, sucking and kissing his burning flesh. Pressure built up in Jake’s balls as she pumped his shaft, alternately mouthing his mushroom tip while Max left a trail of pain on the side of his neck.</div>
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“Master please,” Jake said as a tear rolled down his cheek.</div>
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He didn’t know how much more he could take. His Master was an expert at giving him blue balls, keeping him on the brink, allowing him to see the edge but not letting him go over it. After a couple of years of play Jake was better at maintaining his control, but he was not that good. His ability to stave off his impending orgasm was starting to slip.</div>
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“You can stop now Flower. Orchid is on the verge. Aren’t you my love?”</div>
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“Yes Master,” Jake said. He closed his eyes and settled his mind on unsexy things like the work that awaited him tomorrow.</div>
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“Deep breaths Orchid. Listen to my voice and come back to me.”</div>
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Floating somewhere above them, his mind came back to the moment. He heard them kiss then stop.</div>
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“Oh God I’m so hard,” Jake whined.</div>
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“Then you’re ready for the next part. This time you can watch,” Max said. “Ally suck me.”</div>
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Peyton lives in Michigan where she dreams of summers that aren't so humid. She and her husband have been married for over a decade years and he often lends a helping hand or opinion or two when she's writing a steamy scene.</div>
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She loves to travel and hopes to make it to a romance writers convention sometime soon to meet her idols in the genre without getting too much "stalkage" in.</div>
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When she is not on the net, she is reading about the life of her latest "book boyfriend" or creating one in her own works. If you'd like to to contact her. Drop her an e-mail. She loves hearing from her fans and admirers.</div>
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<br />Peyton Brittany Clarkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13478506056589960224noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-46827816599429847892016-08-22T13:48:00.001+01:002016-08-22T13:48:10.160+01:00Night of the Storm - Romantic Suspense 99 Cents 99p Excerpt and Details <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Set in Rhodes and on the fictional island of Asteri off the Turkish coast, <em><strong>Night of the Storm</strong></em> involves Melissa, a young photographer, who travels to Greece to investigate the true story of her boyfriend's death and uncovers a wildlife smuggling syndicate trying to peddle a very rare and valuable animal.<br />
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<em>(If you like romantic suspense set in the Greek islands, why not also try </em><em><a href="http://www.lindsaytownsend.co.uk/2008/04/english-daughter.html">The English Daughter</a></em><em>, set in Corfu?)</em><br />
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<b>99p on <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Night-Storm-Lindsay-Townsend-ebook/dp/B0061BTBOS/">Amazon UK </a></b><br />
<br />
<b>99 Cents on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Night-Storm-Lindsay-Townsend-ebook/dp/B0061BTBOS/">Amazon</a> </b><br />
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<br />
Excerpt Below<br />
<h1>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Toc440277187"><span lang="EN-GB">PROLOGUE</span></a><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></h1>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Andrew sat on the cliff below the castle wall and watched the sky. Far
below, the Aegean was a deep rust in the setting sun. Wind gusted against his
back. At his feet barley and rockroses, a cushion of yellow vetch growing in
the ruins, small red and white flowers whose names Melissa would know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Down on the beach men moved, dark shapes against the sand. A small boat
rode at anchor. Stiffly, Andrew shifted position. From the corner of his eye he
saw a stocky, dark-haired man standing a bottle of retsina down on a rock,
wiping it carefully with a handkerchief. He nodded a greeting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Then, to his left, another movement -<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Two men looked down at him. One pushed at his body with a foot. 'He's out
cold, no problem. Do it.' The other spun the cap from the bottle, poured the
contents over Andrew, put the bottle between the sleeping fingers. Then they
both rolled him over the edge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">A rattle of falling scree, then silence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<h1>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Toc440277188"><span lang="EN-GB">CHAPTER
1</span></a><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></h1>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">England, 1996<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'I should have known I'd find you here.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The cool voice cut through the beat of straining wings. Gulls,
oystercatchers and sanderling were exploding from an English estuary, darkening
the ice-blue March sky. Katherine Hopkins had just marched straight across the
sands, disturbing hundreds of birds roosting on the beach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'And a good day to you, too,' Melissa said dryly, squinting up at the
tall figure. Freezing and cramped after lying motionless behind a breakwater
for hours, she had just lost a shot: a vital consideration since nature
photography was part of her living.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'You're full of surprises, Katherine,' she observed now through
chill-flayed lips. 'I thought you only liked your animals stuffed or sautéed.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'Always so sure of yourself,' answered Katherine, 'Always so right.' She
ignored the sights and sounds of alarm around them: birds did not buy anything.
Coming to look the site over in private, she had been intensely irritated to
realise that Melissa Haye was there first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'But you've never actually beaten me. I always win in the end. Don't I?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Melissa shrugged and snapped the cap onto her 600mm lens, fingers
tingling with returning life. Unlike her own windswept hair, not a strand of
Katherine's dark chignon stirred in the crisp air. Looking over business-dynamo
Katherine Hopkins, the trousers tailored to those sleek legs, the scarlet
jacket and silken cravat, Melissa wondered why an intelligent woman should find
it so hard to accept that anyone was different from her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">What was done was done. Because of local opposition and a campaign
spearheaded by Melissa herself, Katherine had failed to build one of her Total
Woman Centres on this estuary. To Katherine the horseshoe of cliffs, the closer
profile of river and sea, sands and reedbeds, mudflats and marsh, was a barren
landscape, evocative as the moon but unproductive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'Remember the paper which "no longer required" you?' Katherine
continued, grinding a razorshell under one green boot. 'Remember the
"lost" photo commissions? That was down to me. A couple of phone
calls in the right places was all it took.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'Now you've reminded me...' Melissa scooped a beanbag camera-support, hat
and veiling into jacket pockets, her back icy where Katherine's shadow fell. It
would be great, she thought, if Katherine could let the past alone, but, on and
off, Kate Hopkins had been trying a long time to block her career. Looking
back, Melissa acknowledged that Katherine's vindictiveness had actually spurred
her on by making her do more, try harder. She laughed softly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'I never thanked you for that, did I?' She glanced up again at her
nemesis. They both knew why Katherine detested her. It had nothing to do with
Melissa's work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Katherine's patrician cheekbones turned a delicate pink. 'What is your
problem?' she demanded. 'Total Woman Centres provide a service for thousands.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">At fifty pounds an entry ticket, Melissa wondered how many thousands were
being favoured. Katherine though was a woman with a mission: already, at thirty-four,
one of the wealthiest women in Britain, with her 24-hour shopping and
healthcare stores established in every major city in Europe. Her business
didn't need more expansion, but Katherine was greedy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'A pity, then, that the people here voted to leave things as they are.'
Cradling her camera, sweeping a rapid look over the area she had been stalking
to make sure she would forget none of her photo gear, Melissa rose stiffly to
her feet. The waders would not settle now until she and Katherine were gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'You can't possibly pretend it ends now,' snapped Katherine. 'This is a
prime site...'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'I know.' The estuary was a focal point for local families. In summer,
these sands rang with children's voices. In winter, mudflats and saltings
upstream tingled to the cries of curlew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Melissa smiled, then frowned, the taste of sea-salt catching for an
instant in her throat. 'We should go.' Accustomed to numbness in her legs after
a photo-shoot, she started to limp briskly towards the dunes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'....perfect for the sensitive development I had proposed -' <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Abruptly Katherine broke off, instinctively shying away as a storm of
Brent geese flew in overhead. Melissa stopped, throwing back her blonde head to
track the birds gossiping and grunting in flight: an everyday miracle.
'Amazing!' she murmured, thirst and cold forgotten. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The dark chattering swarm sharpened her responses to the estuary. <i>Andrew should have been here to see this</i>,
she thought, hands tightening on the camera. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Memories, too strong to be denied, welled in her. As grief threatened to
break out again, it helped Melissa to know that Andrew's favourite place was
safe: that she and the local people who had once been Andrew's neighbours had
made it safe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'Wide-eyed enthusiasm doesn't work with me. Is that how you won the
locals over, turning on the little girl charm?' Pausing when she did, Katherine
was looking at her sidelong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Melissa clicked her tongue and chuckled: she was actually grateful for
Katherine's presence and sharp comments. 'You'll never know. Meetings are over,
and so is the voting. People like their sand and "mud" as it is.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'So it would seem.' Green eyes showed gold for an instant as Katherine
acknowledged that unpalatable fact. Dismissing the estuary development from her
immediate calculations with a brisk shake of her head, Katherine moved when
Melissa did, keeping pace with her opponent as they left the beach and began to
thread through the tall, twisting corridors of dunes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">As they walked, Melissa moving sure as a skier over soft dry sand and clumps
of tough marram grass, Katherine's green eyes flashed up her sand-coloured
fatigues and gloves, flitted over the younger woman's delicate complexion, gold
brows and lashes, shoulder length silky blonde hair. Her rival would probably
have to diet to stop those soft body curves, the round lines of an open face,
neat nose, from blurring into flab. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Katherine's lips twitched with satisfaction. Those who thwarted her
always paid. Melissa Haye had lost before, but it seemed she had still not
learned her lesson. Throughout the last decade, their paths had crossed too
often, both professionally and personally. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Andrew Thornhill had been Katherine's personal assistant and occasional
lover. Recognising how his attractively-uneven, maturing looks and ready
enthusiasm could be a foil to her poised, subtle fire, she had given him the
chance of a great career. Yet he had been a disappointment, preferring the safe
Melissa Haye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Katherine's lips tensed, umber sculptured eyebrows drawing together as
she negotiated a litter of pebbles and feathers on the narrowing dune path.
Although it had piqued her to be rejected for some romping teenager, it had
cost her nothing. Andrew had been young, and so could be excused his choice.
She had wished him well, and it seemed he had been happy - he had lived with
Melissa Haye until his sudden death in Rhodes, two years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Old history. Katherine shook herself, consigning Andrew Thornhill to
oblivion, and returned to her present enemy now peeling off her gloves, that
prying long lens nestled in the crook of an arm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'I'm watching you, Melissa Haye. One day you're going to make a serious
mistake.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The threat: always a good sign she was doing her job, reflected Melissa
wryly. Behind, the distant tide hissed in her ears like an indrawn breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'Then we'll see who pays.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">There it was, a gold-plated promise of revenge. Melissa was surprised at
how little she felt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'Nothing to say?' Katherine liked proof of attention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Melissa sighed. 'Can't we call a truce for once, Katherine?' Fishing into
a trouser pocket for her favourite silver seahorse earrings, she hooked them
deftly into her ears whilst cresting a dune-top and dipping down the other
side. These silver seahorses were special: Andrew had bought them for her on
Rhodes...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Katherine was coming at her again, leaning forward as she kicked through
rabbit-marked sand. Her wide, up-tilting eyes were sharp.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'You disgust me,' she said, scornful of any olive branch. Her rapid gaze,
fixing on Melissa's silver seahorse jewellery, became dismissive. 'Everything
you are. Everything you stand for. Cross me again and I'll finish you for
good.' <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Katherine pushed past Melissa, striding on towards the track and her
black four-wheel drive, towards civilisation and her plans for revenge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<h1>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Toc440277189"><span lang="EN-GB">CHAPTER
2</span></a><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Clutching her camera, Melissa stared out to sea. She no longer thought of
Katherine's threats. The past had returned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Andrew Thornhill, with his straight brown hair, craggy nose and keen
smile. Six-one in his stockinged feet, and broadening. He had blushed when he
first saw her at the local wildlife group meeting at Wells-next-the-Sea. Later,
walking with Melissa by the sea shore, Andrew had asked her out. He was twenty
then, Melissa seventeen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">They had lived together for eight years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Still the memories flowed. His walk, his voice, his scent. His lethal
sloe gin. His listening face. His hilarious imitation of a love-struck
diplomat. The way he double-knotted his shoelaces. The way he liked 'messing
about' round rock-pools. The way he made love -<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'Stop this!' The heavy camera trembled on Melissa's arm. Andrew had died
two years ago, and still she was struggling to come to terms with it. She had
to get away, find a different direction. But there was something she had to do
first: a secret, private mission behind her next assignment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Her bags were always packed. She loved roving - new places, new people.
She was due to go to Greece in April, the peak time for the amazing spring
flowering and bird migration in the region, stay on the remote eastern island
of Asteri, just off the coast from Turkey, whilst she researched her latest
travel series: <i>'Paradise under Threat</i>.<i>'</i> She could bring that trip forward, fly
to Rhodes, take the light airplane to Asteri.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">It would be expedient to drop out of circulation in England until a certain
brunette forgot her. Kate Hopkins had a spiteful memory and a long business
arm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Melissa laid her camera down and sat on the shadowed side of the dunes,
nimble fingers digging into the cold sand. The ebbing, mournful cry of a curlew
dragged at her insides as she swallowed, faintly nauseated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Remembering....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Two years ago, due to join Andrew on Rhodes for a holiday, she had been
summoned instead to identify his body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
Lindsay Townsend </div>
Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-14305981128180466752016-06-15T08:00:00.000+01:002016-06-15T08:00:13.679+01:00Guest blog: Shelly Alexander - 'It's In His Smile'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5MHbwq5Pq-_p7LrJJTxVRs9Ta_q_aSHW2DxeH7v5B0-Hh5hSliazF8u2rqec3Qhwt7ZaynekaMH02anq3PwVFTzTS6ZfEiANiFGZuIHmL0XDY7kHIFuWVkGBfFp0U7JtLgYUS1e_2tU/s1600/S2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5MHbwq5Pq-_p7LrJJTxVRs9Ta_q_aSHW2DxeH7v5B0-Hh5hSliazF8u2rqec3Qhwt7ZaynekaMH02anq3PwVFTzTS6ZfEiANiFGZuIHmL0XDY7kHIFuWVkGBfFp0U7JtLgYUS1e_2tU/s320/S2.png" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i><b>She’s
risking it all on a dream career…until his smile convinces her to
risk her heart on love.</b></i></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section11">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section12">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>Miranda
Cruz isn’t just the best darned waitress in town anymore; she’s
Red River’s newest innkeeper. All she has to do is renovate the
inn, find the contractor that has disappeared with her life’s
savings, and prove that she is the respectable business owner she’s
always dreamed of being. Easy, right? Especially for the intelligent
Miss Cruz who never depends on anyone, including a man. Until a
gorgeous old flame shows up and reignites a fire that has been
simmering for seven long years and could send her dreams up in
smoke.</i></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section13">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section14">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>Acclaimed
environmental architect, Talmadge Oaks, returns home to Red River to
settle family business. He plans to get in and get out as quickly as
possible because a professional catastrophe is waiting for him back
in the Pacific Northwest. When an unforeseen snag keeps him in Red
River longer than expected, he finds himself entangled with the
floundering renovations of his late grandmother’s old Victorian
inn. Handy with a hammer, Talmadge offers to help the inn’s
beautiful new owner, but his motives aren’t completely selfless.
Will his secret demolish everything they are building? Or will their
undeniable passion and love be enough to hold them together?</i></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section15">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: navy; font-family: inherit;"><span lang="zxx"><a href="https://www.netgalley.com/widget/open?widget_id=87687_81288_1460416616570c306839e6b_9781503936058_US">https://www.netgalley.com/widget/open?widget_id=87687_81288_1460416616570c306839e6b_9781503936058_US</a></span></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section2">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section3">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Smile-River-Valley-Novel-Book-ebook/dp/B019GWOP26/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_img_7?ie=UTF8&refRID=1WVVB2CMS0WTAV3ZV8JJnv" style="font-family: inherit;">http://www.amazon.com/Smile-River-Valley-Novel-Book-ebook/dp/B019GWOP26/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_img_7?ie=UTF8&refRID=1WVVB2CMS0WTAV3ZV8JJnv</a></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section5">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/its-in-his-smile-shelly-alexander/1123249891?ean=9781503936058" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span lang="zxx">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/its-in-his-smile-shelly-alexander/1123249891?ean=9781503936058</span></span></span></a></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section6">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br />
</span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section7">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Its-His-Smile/Shelly-Alexander/9781503936058?id=6399902688436" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span lang="zxx"><u>http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Its-His-Smile/Shelly-Alexander/9781503936058?id=6399902688436</u></span></span></span></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28235823?source=ebfg_email" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span lang="zxx"><u>https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28235823?source=ebfg_email</u></span></span></span></a></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section16">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitps3gYkA-qMr4RMvE2bwIinvKLBtPAsfsEirtBubGDB52vFBbrY-o9gfF5Z4hQcHCcAD8hpYbR4roG66LXC-xt0rFs9MCwY4PrCqT6OKQpfy6wdQU_q4unBC-Qan1LRpkn-JVCNxyX0Q/s1600/s1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitps3gYkA-qMr4RMvE2bwIinvKLBtPAsfsEirtBubGDB52vFBbrY-o9gfF5Z4hQcHCcAD8hpYbR4roG66LXC-xt0rFs9MCwY4PrCqT6OKQpfy6wdQU_q4unBC-Qan1LRpkn-JVCNxyX0Q/s1600/s1.png" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b>Excerpt
from Chapter 1:</b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Miranda Cruze
was sure that getting hot and bothered at a wake broke at least one
of the unwritten rules of funeral etiquette. Especially since she
was the hostess.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Ms.
Bea, Miranda’s friend and mentor, deserved more respect.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section17">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The
scent of freshly baked oatmeal and raisin cookies drifted over the
bar that separated the kitchen from the dining area to fill the room
and hopefully bring some comfort to the mourners. Miranda pulled the
last batch from the oven and dished them onto a plate with a
spatula.</span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section18">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The
heat climbing up her legs to settle between her thighs was from the
oven, right?</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Right.
Of course it was the oven. Or her black formfitting pants. She
probably should’ve bought the next size up.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It definitely was not because of
Bea’s hot and handsome grandson, Talmadge. His mere presence was
absolutely not the cause of her throat turning to chalk dust or her
rusty girl parts turning a flip or her need to stay on the other
side of the funeral parlor, the other side of the graveside service,
and the other side of the room. All damn day. Until she felt like
she’d been playing a game of keep-away and he was it.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">No,
the heat seeping into every single inch of her five-feet-two-inch
body was not because of Red River’s prodigal son--a leader in
green architecture made famous for his environmentally friendly
designs and for bringing hotel chains around the world into the age
of energy efficiency--come home to bury his beloved grandmother.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Definitely
the oven. She kicked it closed with her black ankle-booted foot.
With a toss, her oven mitt landed on the outdated Formica counter.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section19">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">When
she’d bought the small Victorian inn just off Red River’s Main
Street from Bea Oaks five months ago, she hadn’t considered that
her first public event would be to mourn the loss of her old friend.
She hadn’t considered that she’d have to figure out how to run
an inn on her own without Bea’s experience and advice. She hadn’t
considered that before opening for business, the renovations would
chew up most of her savings from waiting tables since she was
fifteen.</span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section20">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Obviously,
Miranda needed to spend more time considering.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section21">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">She
waded through the ocean of mourners, offered condolences,
sidestepped a few boxes of tile that her contractor still hadn’t
installed, and placed the fresh plate of cookies on the table of
picked-over food.</span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section22">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">She
arranged a few serving dishes, straightened the stack of napkins,
made sure enough clean silverware was available. And then she had no
choice but to turn her attention to the roomful of saddened guests
who had no idea how much Miranda was really going to miss Beatrice
Oaks.</span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section23">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">No
one except...</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Miranda’s
stare settled on Talmadge, who was standing on the far side of the
inn’s large dining room. His injured arm in a sling under his suit
jacket, he chatted with a middle-aged couple.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">For
the tiniest moment, her heart beat in an odd cadence before it
caught the right rhythm again.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">She
had known Talmadge would come to his grandmother’s funeral. Of
course he would. But a small part of her had hoped he wouldn’t
show. Another teensy weeny part of her had hoped he would.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Wouldn’t.
Would. Wouldn’t. Would.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And
then there he had been, his broad shoulders filling the funeral
parlor doorway. Eyes rimmed in red for the grandmother who’d
raised him.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section24">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">As
they’d done then, her insides were back to doing the jive like she
was a contestant on Dancing with the Stars. Or a pole dancer at a
gentlemen’s club. Because Miranda was pretty sure that only a
person of questionable habits would have carnal thoughts at a
funeral.</span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section25">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Another
wave of heat flamed through her. Gah!</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Sandy
hair slicked back, Talmadge’s strong jaw moved as he spoke to the
middle-aged couple. Mid sentence he turned and locked gazes with
Miranda like he knew she’d been watching him. His lips stopped
moving, and he just stared at her.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The
hint of a smile settled onto his lips, and she suddenly found it
hard to breathe.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section26">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Her
gaze flitted away, and she offered a kind word to a guest who walked
past, then busied herself with rearranging the food. Maybe the ham
should go next to the mashed potatoes? Should her homemade oatmeal
cookies really be next to the sauerkraut? And should her obnoxious
female pheromones be spewing sexual attraction so close to the
deviled eggs?</span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section27">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">That
might actually be a health department violation, now that she
thought about it. Note to self: no pheromone spewing when the
inspectors come to give their stamp of approval.</span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section28">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Talmadge
returned his attention to the couple, shook the man’s hand, and
headed...toward her.</span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section29">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section30">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b>Shelly
Alexander</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Biography</span></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section31">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">#1
Bestseller in Contemporary Romance</span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section32">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">#1
Bestseller in Contemporary Women's Fiction</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">#1
Bestseller in Romantic Comedy</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">#1
Bestseller in Romantic Series</span></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section33">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section34">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 0.7cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">A 2014 Golden Heart® finalist,
Shelly Alexander grew up traveling the world, earned a bachelor's
degree in marketing, and worked in the business world. With four
older brothers and a sister, she watched every Star Trek episode
ever made, joined the softball team instead of ballet class, and
played with G.I. Joes while the Barbie Corvette stayed tucked in the
closet. When she had three sons of her own, she decided to escape
her male-dominated world by reading romance novels and has been
hooked ever since. Now, she spends her days writing sassy and steamy
contemporary romances while tending to a miniature schnauzer name
Omer, a tiny toy poodle named Mozart, and a pet boa constrictor
named Zeus.</span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section35">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section36">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helveticaneue" , "helvetica neue";">For
updates on new releases and sales, visit my website and sign up for
my newsletter: </span></span><a href="http://shellyalexander.net/" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helveticaneue" , "helvetica neue";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="zxx"><u>http://shellyalexander.net/</u></span></span></span></span></a></i></b></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section37">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><i><br /><br />
</i></b></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section38">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><i>Visit me at:</i></b></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section39">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><i><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1463043817124_5291"></a>
Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ShellyAlexanderAuthor" target="_blank"><span style="color: navy;"><span lang="zxx"><u>https://www.facebook.com/ShellyAlexanderAuthor</u></span></span></a></i></b></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section40">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><i><br /><br />
</i></b></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section41">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><i>Or Tweet: @ShellyCAlexande</i></b></div>
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-53109388702588822102016-02-12T18:55:00.000+00:002016-02-12T15:55:42.629+00:00Lindsay Townsend: 'The English Daughter' Romantic Suspense - Only 99p/99Cents<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHyTeqjpjhvZxNd3fb1nmm722gryn0E0YultBYLkEFhFvMk8J7ls4hTvj_kv2w_kFvCVpFMlyf0yVwWIU0Xe7dNIwQtlAeEEak4apd7UW5iobWC95WpmKRoNmkcqeoZ4vAK5LcnbimrDw/s1600/Englishdaughtercover1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHyTeqjpjhvZxNd3fb1nmm722gryn0E0YultBYLkEFhFvMk8J7ls4hTvj_kv2w_kFvCVpFMlyf0yVwWIU0Xe7dNIwQtlAeEEak4apd7UW5iobWC95WpmKRoNmkcqeoZ4vAK5LcnbimrDw/s320/Englishdaughtercover1a.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<em>Young widow Val Baker restores musical instruments, but fears her relationship with her Greek-Italian family on Corfu is broken beyond repair. </em><br />
<br />
<em>Returning to the island to work on a rare piano belonging to her Greek friend Alexia, she finds her dreams haunted by memories of Hilary; a young English girl raped and murdered ten years before. Val determines to uncover the truth about the case, and set to rest her own doubts about the involvement of her father, Yiannis, and half-brother, Markos, both policemen who were involved in the original investigation. </em><br />
<br />
<em>Joined by her friend Harry, Val begins to unravel the threads. When two strange tokens arrive, one for Alexia's daughter Chloe and one for Val, it becomes clear that Hilary's unknown killer is on Val's trail. Her search for the truth becomes a race for life.</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Previously published by Severn House.</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
Buy the ebook now: <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/English-Daughter-Lindsay-Townsend-ebook/dp/B008ABCSS8/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455291983&sr=1-1">Amazon UK</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/English-Daughter-Lindsay-Townsend-ebook/dp/B008ABCSS8/ref=sr_1_20?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1455292046&sr=1-20&keywords=lindsay+townsend">Amazon USA</a><br />
Also in<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-English-Daughter/dp/B0090CJYFQ/ref=tmm_aud_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1455292046&sr=1-20"> Audio</a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.authorsden.com/adstorage/92533/EnglishDaughterChapterOne.pdf">Read Chapter One</a><br />
<br />
<div>
<strong><em>Another excerpt:</em></strong><br />
<br />
They returned to an arcaded street where they could stroll side by side, and Harry released Val’s fingers. Perversely, Val was disappointed.<br />
<br />
‘Wait, please.’ Harry crouched in the middle of the alley to retie one shoelace. Steve and Judith pushed round them. Judith, counting caged birds, called, ‘There’s another!’ <br />
<br />
Staring down at Harry, Val wondered if he was trying to put her off balance. Even as she thought it, he glanced up, straight at her. ‘How about that visit to your workshop right now?’<br />
<br />
‘No cemetery?’ Val teased back.<br />
<br />
Harry laughed, but said, ‘Or you go on alone there, if you want. Time in your own place.’ He rose, looking her up and down, his face hardening. ‘You’ve had enough today.’<br />
<br />
Did she trust Harry? Could she really rely on him? <br />
<br />
‘Val.’ Harry’s voice returned Val to the middle of the alley. ‘What do you say? A simple yes will do.’ <br />
<br />
Since when did he become so bossy? Val marvelled, uncertain what to make of this new Harry. She opened her mouth but was forestalled by Judith. Her daughter ran back up the street and cannoned into her legs. <br />
<br />
‘There’s a poster round the corner of Beauty and the Beast! Can we go, Mummy, please?’ <br />
<br />
Val drew Judy out of the road and knelt in front of her daughter. Had she and Judith been alone, she would have happily gone to see her child’s favourite film, but asking Steve or Harry to do so was unfair. <br />
<br />
‘Judy, I don’t think—’ she began, when Steve touched her arm.<br />
<br />
‘It’s no problem,’ he said, quietly. ‘There’s a film starting in about twenty minutes. Won’t do me any harm.’<br />
<br />
Harry took out his wallet and thrust a wad of euros at Steve. ‘Have an ice-cream while you’re about it,’ he remarked, nodding at Judy. <br />
<br />
Val admitted it made sense. Her workshop really wasn’t the place for Judy and they all needed a lift after that family reunion.<br />
<br />
‘Right, but come straight back to the workshop as soon as the film’s over. You’re clear about the address? And you know where you’re going? <br />
<br />
‘You put Steve up to that,’ she said, waving them off, watching until they had turned the corner.<br />
<br />
‘Did I?’ Harry was looking past her, right over her head.<br />
<br />
‘What?’ Val turned, her eye drawn to a poster celebrating the return of the ‘International Performer’ Stefan Gregory to Corfu. Hear him live at the Achillion! the poster proclaimed, a horrible irony. ‘I need a newspaper, Harry.’ <br />
<br />
‘There’s a little shop three doors down. I’m sure they’ll sell them.’ Harry stepped round Val and was off. ‘You’ll translate the crime reports?’ he called back. ‘I still don’t read Greek so well.’<br />
<br />
Val trotted to catch up. ‘Why do you want to know?’ <br />
<br />
Harry swung round. ‘No, Val. The question is, why do you?’<br />
<br />
‘Why are you still thinking like a policeman? You’re as bad—’ Val stopped the rest of the complaint. She didn’t want her father or Markos shadowing them, least of all Markos.<br />
<br />
As bad as Nick, finished Harry in his own mind. Maybe he should go after Judy and Steve. The rest of this evening was going to be a bust. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
‘This is it.’ Val set her shoulder to the workshop door.<br />
<br />
‘Good God,’ Harry said. <br />
<br />
‘You like it?’ Val was surprised. Most visitors to Nonno’s workshop were overwhelmed. Nick had said, ‘How do you move in here?’ but Harry entered the room as she did, with a quiet confidence.<br />
<br />
They breathed in together, sharing the scents of resin, polish and wood. His eyes were everywhere, taking in the dismantled pianos, lighting on the old hard swatches of felt, sweeping to the stone sink in the corner and up the walls with their shelves and tools. He turned about in a circle.<br />
<br />
‘Whenever I picture you at work, I’ll always see you here.’ <br />
<br />
Val nodded, swallowing. She was foolishly touched by Harry’s sensitivity and ashamed of her earlier churlishness. ‘I’m sorry.’<br />
<br />
‘Don’t apologize. You say sorry far too much.’<br />
<br />
She walked over to him. ‘Bend down - you’ve got a cobweb.’<br />
<br />
Harry half crouched and she lifted spider and web off the bronzing temple close to his left ear, marvelling at the Viking hair, the thick golden brows and eyelashes, pitying his slightly receding hairline. She dangled the spider on the closed shutters, startled by her own disappointment that Harry had made no attempt to touch her in return.<br />
<br />
The heat’s getting to me, she thought, turning from the shutters straight into Harry’s arms.<br />
<br />
‘Hello,’ he said.<br />
<br />
‘Hello back.’ Aware that the next move must come from her, she transferred the local newspaper from her left hand into both hands, gripping it in front of her, and rested her head against his breastbone.<br />
<br />
There was no sense of wonder, or fireworks, as there had been with Nick. Val was oddly divorced from her senses. She didn’t want more than this floating peace. ‘I can’t—’ <br />
<br />
‘Sssh. It’s all right.’ He brushed her jaw with his fingers, seeking her chin to raise her head. ‘I only want to look at you.’<br />
<br />
‘You’ve seen me lots of times,’ Val muttered at his stomach.<br />
<br />
‘True, but not here.’<br />
<br />
‘We’re not in Fenfield,’ she agreed, and lifted her face to his.<br />
<br />
In the distance there was a knocking. Val didn’t connect it with the workshop until Harry placed a warning finger on her lips. <br />
<br />
‘Let me in!’ Markos hammered on her door. As Val tensed, he kicked the solid black wood of the outer door and left without noticing that it was unlocked. <br />
<br />
‘That was lucky,’ Val said, as his pounding feet faded away.<br />
<br />
Harry spread a hand across the middle of her back and teased her closer. ‘You’ve already told me about Markos, but am I missing something?’<br />
<br />
Val batted him with the paper. ‘Stop being a copper. It’s not important.’<br />
<br />
‘Isn’t it?’<br />
<br />
‘Leave it alone, Harry.’ <br />
<br />
‘Fair enough, Val.’ He released her and strode to the window, strumming his left hand down the length of one shutter. ‘What about that newspaper report you wanted to see?’<br />
<br />
Sensing that even this activity would be the prelude to more questions, Val spread the paper on the bench. Harry came to stare over her shoulder.<br />
<br />
‘Well?’ he prompted above her, leaning on his braced arm, his palm spread on the bench amongst a tiny, forgotten pile of old wood shavings.<br />
<br />
‘It says very little.’ Even as she scanned the pages covering the latest murder, she wondered just how much her companion understood. Not only about the body found at the Achillion.<br />
<br />
‘A young woman’s naked body, discovered amongst trees in the grounds of the Achillion,’ she paraphrased. ‘No one seems to know who she is, what nationality. It says she died of a broken neck.’<br />
<br />
‘Her killer must be physically strong, then,’ said Harry. <br />
<br />
Val’s fingers traced the lines. ‘The paper speaks of other wounds that the police won’t disclose. It doesn’t say she was raped, but people are already talking about the Achillion killer striking again.’<br />
<br />
‘How many times has this happened? Bodies of naked young women found in a well-known beauty spot?’<br />
<br />
‘I wouldn’t call the Achillion beautiful.’<br />
<br />
‘Tourist spot. Whatever. What’s going on, Val? When Markos trumpeted his news, you went white.’<br />
<br />
Why did she feel tempted to confess? ‘It was years ago,’ she said, covering her confusion by folding up the newspaper. ‘An English tourist called Hilary Moffat was killed here. She vanished from Corfu town and was found raped and murdered in the grounds of the Achillion the following night.’<br />
<br />
‘What distances are we talking here? Between Corfu town and the Achillion?’<br />
<br />
‘About ten kilometres. An easy road south.’<br />
<br />
‘So it’s likely the killer had some kind of transport. And possibly an appealing manner, to lure the girl into it?’<br />
<br />
‘I should think so.’ Val had considered these points long ago. ‘It would be hard to snatch someone off the streets: too many people would see.’<br />
<br />
‘Were there any suspects the first time?’<br />
<br />
Val shook her head. ‘I don’t know. The newspapers never mentioned anyone. No one was charged.’<br />
<br />
‘And the first victim was also naked?’<br />
<br />
Val nodded, blushing as Harry looked at her, his head tilted to one side so that he could see all her face.<br />
<br />
‘You knew her.’<br />
<br />
‘She was a music student like me, that’s all.’ <br />
<br />
She expected more - what, she couldn’t say. More questions, possibly. Instead, Harry’s face closed down as she spoke. <br />
<br />
‘I see.’ He returned to his vantage point beside the shutters.<br />
<br />
‘What? What do you see?’ Val became more exasperated as Harry smiled and not a pleasant smile.<br />
<br />
‘Not comfortable, is it, being shut out?’<br />
<br />
‘I’m not . . . It’s difficult . . .’ Val stammered, alarmed by her unexpected wish to please Harry. ‘I’m probably crazy, anyway. Too many dreams.’<br />
<br />
Harry wandered back to her, reached under the bench and lifted out her tall stool. ‘Why don’t we start again? You sit here and explain as much as you feel easy to tell me.’<br />
<br />
Val sat on the stool and glanced at her watch.<br />
<br />
‘We’ve plenty of time. The film won’t have started yet,’ Harry coaxed. <br />
<br />
‘I know.’ Anxious about confessing her involvement with Hilary, Val chewed on her lower lip. <br />
<br />
Harry crossed the stone flags yet again and peered through the gap in the shutters. ‘Nothing you say will change my good opinion of you— Hello! There’s someone outside. He’s coming here.’<br />
<br />
A brisk rattling at the inner door.</div>
Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-60820401305908321552015-09-05T08:00:00.000+01:002015-09-05T08:00:12.268+01:00Guest blog: Kimbra Kasch - 'Demon's Ink'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There are lots of dangerous things around Portland lately but,
when a Demonic tattoo artist comes to town, everything goes to Hell, in </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Demons-Ink-Evil-Kim-Kasch-ebook/dp/B012P2R5G2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1438314249&sr=8-1&keywords=demon%27s+ink+by+kim+kasch" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">DEMON’S
INK</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">This young adult novel is <b>set
in Portland, Oregon</b> and with Halloween coming, you'll want to have a scary
story to share...</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">That’s where DEMON'S INK comes in: It's about art, that's more
than anyone bargained for. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Drake and Bartos come to the Pacific Northwest, where they open yet
another tattoo shop but Bartos has no trouble dealing with the competition
because there’s nothing normal about his art. And he’s stealing more than
clients from the local skin artists. He's stealing their souls.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Customers fall in love with Bartos Slinderman’s tats but end up
paying the ultimate price for their purchase because unlike Oscar Wilde’s
Dorian Gray, they can’t walk away from this art and it’s beautiful until the
artwork takes on a life of its own...</i></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">EXCERPT:</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">DRAKE</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Expectations can ruin everything.
Like thinking my senior year was going to be something special. What a set up
that was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I should have known better than to
get my hopes up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Ever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I’d never been lucky. No one in my
family was. I was probably only six when I’d heard grandpa say, “We come from a
long line of losers.” He was talking to my Dad. I don’t even know about what.
But, now, I know I should have listened to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Dad had already gone to prison,
leaving Mom and me worse off than ever. And we were never good but, at least
while he’d hung around, she managed to act like things were okay. Now she
wasn’t even trying to pretend. Really it was way worse than that; she wasn’t
even getting up off the couch any more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I’d come home from school to find
her passed out. The first couple times it freaked me out. Seeing her
face-planted in the front room and not knowing whether she was alive or dead, I
didn’t want to be the one to find her like that, to turn her over, to have to
check to see if she was still breathing but I did. . . and I had no idea if she
was high or drunk. I didn’t even care because what difference did it make? She
was out of it. That was all that mattered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">So, after Dad went to jail, I was
completely alone until Bartos made me a deal I couldn’t refuse but that was
later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">For weeks, I’d come home after
class and make a sandwich—if there was bread—otherwise it was a bowl of cereal
for breakfast and dinner, sometimes I’d eat it dry because the milk had gone
bad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I knew I was going to have to get a
job if I wanted to survive and I’d started looking around but that was right
before everything changed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It was late one Thursday evening. I
still remember because I was thinking, “Only one more day…” I just didn’t know
how right I was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I don’t know what woke me up that
night. Maybe it was the smell, the heat, the sound of my Mom screaming. I
really don’t know. But I opened my eyes to the thick burning haze of a room
filled with smoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I’d gone down into the basement
that night and fallen asleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Looking around, I already knew
there were no windows. I was trapped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">BUY THE BOOK
HERE:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Demons-Ink-Evil-Kim-Kasch-ebook/dp/B012P2R5G2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1438318949&sr=8-1&keywords=demon%27s+ink+by+kim+kasch" target="_blank">AMAZON</a></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">, </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/demons-ink-kim-kasch/1122402964?ean=2940152283433" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">NOOK</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">, </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/demons-ink/id1023186730?mt=11"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">iBook</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">, and
</span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/demon-s-ink">KOBO</a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">SOCIAL MEDIA
SITES:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
join me on </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://twitter.com/kimkasch" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Twitter</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> or
stop by and see what I'm pinning on </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://www.pinterest.com/kimkasch/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Pinterest</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> and,
if you've read Demon's Ink and have a question or simply want to share a
comment, please feel free to send me an email. I love connecting with readers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/15278287-kimbra-kasch" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Goodreads</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00ZOAUKMO" target="_blank">Amazon
Author Page</a></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/KimKaschAuthor" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Facebook</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://kimbrakasch.com/">Website</a></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4vvGKhGspn5qdgl-aILRHM2iYej_z1FReBQS3AOEJnW2as1L6dy7kxR8LLd-KNB6dEdwlZRoJW9PJKnojwLf8OvaTg_Yq_1PJ-jusblkBf7wKzTUqCHnRyZmGJF-h_Qw-R2Xmlq3kMI/s1600/Me+October+2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4vvGKhGspn5qdgl-aILRHM2iYej_z1FReBQS3AOEJnW2as1L6dy7kxR8LLd-KNB6dEdwlZRoJW9PJKnojwLf8OvaTg_Yq_1PJ-jusblkBf7wKzTUqCHnRyZmGJF-h_Qw-R2Xmlq3kMI/s200/Me+October+2013.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><b>ABOUT KIMBRA:</b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I'm a
writer who grew up in a family with <b>9</b>
kids and only<b> 1</b> t.v. so I spent my
days reading and, later, writing. I love books. . .maybe because I never got to
pick t.v. shows we watched. But I’d run home after school to catch the last
fifteen minutes of Dark Shadows...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
still love to run...or maybe I should say wogging (a cross between walking and
jogging). Here in Portland, I love Halloween themed runs - where people don
costumes and run. It's a lot of fun...and I know those two words don't always
go together: fun...and...run. But it is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> And,
with all those Halloween themed runs, I guess Dark Shadows had more of an
influence than some people might think. Even today my favorite author is
Stephen King. My all-time favorite book is Salem's Lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Favorite
romance novels are The Hunger Games...okay, I know, it's a survival book but
it's really all about romance. Then there were the series: Twilight, True Blood,
and more. I really love paranormal, Horror and sometimes even light books like
Dewey the Small Town Library Cat... Mainly, I just love to read. . . and write.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Sorry
to be so long-winded but did I say I love to write? ...and talk and...knit, and
sew, and bake... I could go on but I'll stop by saying, I hope you’ll stop in on
my site and I can tell you I’m really excited to be sharing my young adult
novel with you: Demon’s Ink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Thanks for
listening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-78990071047988982962015-07-31T08:00:00.000+01:002015-07-31T08:00:02.962+01:00Guest blog: Mickie Sherwood - 'Templet's Tasty Tails'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSeNGTPjuTfgjgTb9qzOw6ZuukDZ6tnEXkSq0jtq0gUxlzhcBgOK5BF0bWRXKGqDN94aPLwWT6nG6c2hQgrHCZGxYIti6p9SUpabyqKAMVg5ZxtKMV8SU7G7LqCAsRnUTuPQe0NLNZCRU/s1600/TEMPLET%2527S+TASTY+TAILS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSeNGTPjuTfgjgTb9qzOw6ZuukDZ6tnEXkSq0jtq0gUxlzhcBgOK5BF0bWRXKGqDN94aPLwWT6nG6c2hQgrHCZGxYIti6p9SUpabyqKAMVg5ZxtKMV8SU7G7LqCAsRnUTuPQe0NLNZCRU/s320/TEMPLET%2527S+TASTY+TAILS.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Loss…life…love.
What a difference a year makes!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Web Designer
Erika Washington's contract with her childhood best friend covers all
possibilities about her pregnancy. But, one unpredictable event redirects her
future. As a donor-surrogate, what does one do when fate changes the plan and
claims the lives of the intended parents? If you're selfless, strong-willed
Erika Washington, you mount a defense to keep <i>your</i> baby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Entrepreneur
Booker Templet, owner of Templet's Tasty Tails, secretly agrees to help his
first cousin. However, unfortunate circumstances change the course of his life.
After he learns the identity of the other donor, Booker plans to be a part of
his child's life. <i>No matter what.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Will Erika and
Booker battle over custody of the baby? Will their horrible loss help them find
consolation in each other's arms? Or will fate intervene yet again?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Scene:</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">
After Booker becomes her client, Erika accepts his invitation to have a
firsthand look at his business operations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Enjoy
an extended excerpt:</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Erika
stopped suddenly. "You've got to be kidding." She looked at the black
rims with the silver, riveted studs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"No.
I mean every word."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"No,"
she contested. "Not that." Erika looked up at Booker, then at his
truck. "That."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Laughing,
Booker placed a hand on her shoulder. "See what I mean? A sense of humor
on display."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"I
can't climb up there." Although she adjusted the leg of her jeans, her
protruding tummy hindered her knee lift.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"You
don't have to." He uttered those words as he reached and cradled her in
his arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Put
me down, Booker Templet."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Erika."
He looked her dead in her unbelieving eyes. "It's the only way to get you
into the truck. Will you open the door for me, please?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She
did. "Now, put me down." Her tush met the leather seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Booker
remained in the door as she buckled her seatbelt. Apparently satisfied with her
handiwork, he rounded the front end. He slid one long leg in before settling
into the driver's seat. After he cranked up, Booker hooked a right once he
reached the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
serene countryside captured Erika's attention. She snapped shot after shot.
When he reduced his speed, she realized they neared his business.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"That's
the plant over there."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Erika
traced his finger point to the aluminum-sided building and silos in the
distance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Here's
where most of my work is done." He drove off the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">What
Erika saw was green grass seeming to float in water. "Is that rice?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"And
she's smart, too." Booker laid a wrist over the steering wheel.
"What's left of it. The crawfish pond is, also, where rice is grown.
Flood. Drain. Harvest. Re-flood."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Sounds
like a vicious"—Erika watched him look over his field—"but profitable
cycle."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">While
he sat in deep contemplation, she aimed her camera. The faint whir tempted him.
Booker glanced her way, and Erika snapped again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Plus
playful."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"You're
such an easy target…I mean, an inviting subject."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Ahh,
Erika Washington. There's certainly more to you than meets the eye."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Erika
pondered what Booker said, smiled at him, and then started taking shots of the
area.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Let
me show you something." He left his seat. She saw him shed his cowboy boots
for camouflage-green rubber boots from the truck bed. He came to her side.
"May I?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"At
least you asked this time." Opening her door, she permitted him to pick
her up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Booker
slushed through the bog to a patch of tall grass with her in his arms.
"Get your camera ready."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Excited,
Erika fumbled and almost dropped it. His quick recovery had her poised for the
photo shoot. "A boat?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Yep.
Specially designed for harvesting crawfish traps." Booker's diligence
seated her carefully under the boat’s canvas tarp. "Would you like to go
check a trap?" Hesitancy shone in his eyes. That was the first time he’d
appeared unsure about anything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"I
don't run from new experiences. Let's do it," she said. Erika laughed,
happy with the way the day progressed. He smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">They
floated over to one of the markers that bobbed on the water. Booker elongated
his body to grab the top. When he lifted his arm, up came a wire basket. Erika
gripped it, too. Together they set it on the bottom of the boat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"I
can now add crawfish harvester to my list of accomplishments."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">His
eyes glinted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"What's
that look?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Pure
admiration, Erika."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Why,
Booker Templet. I declare, sir," she did her Scarlett O'Hara impersonation,
"I do believe you're being fresh."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Booker
grinned then shook his head. As was his habit, he pulled at his ear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Curious about what happens next?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Buy:
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Amazon:</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">
</span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Templets-Tasty-Tails-Mickie-Sherwood-ebook/dp/B010TZCS5K/"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">http://www.amazon.com/Templets-Tasty-Tails-Mickie-Sherwood-ebook/dp/B010TZCS5K/</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Kobo:</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">
</span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/templet-s-tasty-tails"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/templet-s-tasty-tails</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">B&N:</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">
</span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/templets-tasty-tails-mickie-sherwood/1122241483"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/templets-tasty-tails-mickie-sherwood/1122241483</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bio:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mickie
Sherwood is an author and novice photographer who takes nature pictures right
in her own backyard. She loves to engage in her favorite pastime which also
incites her creativity. Combine that aspect of her life with the enjoyment of
spending time with her family, and cruising vacations, and the development of
interesting characters who encounter intriguing circumstances is not very far
behind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Check me out. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Blog:</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.mickiesherwood.com/blog"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">http://www.mickiesherwood.com/blog</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Twitter:</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://www.twitter.com/MickieSherwood"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">https://www.twitter.com/MickieSherwood</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Pinterest:</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://www.pinterest.com/MickieSherwood"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">https://www.Pinterest.com/MickieSherwood</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">First Chapters:</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://www.bayouloveromances.blogspot.com/">http://www.bayouloveromances.blogspot.com</a></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-14148893678345810212015-07-24T10:58:00.000+01:002015-07-24T10:58:00.157+01:00Guest Blog: Angela Britnell - 'The Reject Wedding Table'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7OsvnVBazro_zRUwurN-IU6G9rohBRCRhqbpujgVPYssE0VvkRsbV2EkjfnPzjz_D4mnaXbaMJ7KiDf3gqL6Uh5QJM4FDZhOiQchuVk9b2J9nxaZ_lOBwDtRsiQ9Bf2VuN9yMqMvWnpo/s1600/Reject+Table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7OsvnVBazro_zRUwurN-IU6G9rohBRCRhqbpujgVPYssE0VvkRsbV2EkjfnPzjz_D4mnaXbaMJ7KiDf3gqL6Uh5QJM4FDZhOiQchuVk9b2J9nxaZ_lOBwDtRsiQ9Bf2VuN9yMqMvWnpo/s320/Reject+Table.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
<strong><i><span lang="EN-US">Once on the reject table, always on the reject
table? </span></i></strong><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US">When Maggie Taylor, a cake decorator, and Chad Robertson, a
lawyer from Nashville Tennessee, meet at a wedding in Cornwall it’s not under
the best circumstances.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US">They have both been assigned to ‘the reject table’,
alongside a toxic collection of grumpy great aunts, bitter divorcees and stuffy
organists.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US">Maggie has grown used to being the reject, although when
Chad helps her out of a wedding cake disaster she begins to wonder whether the
future could hold more for her.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US">But will Chad be strong enough to deal with the other
problems in Maggie’s life? Because a ruined cake isn’t the only issue she has –
not by a long shot.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<em><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></em>
<em><span lang="EN-US">2nd novella in the Nashville Connections series.
First: <a href="http://www.choc-lit.com/dd-product/what-happens-in-nashville/" title="What Happens in Nashville">What Happens in Nashville.</a><o:p></o:p></span></em><br />
<em><b><u><span lang="EN-US" style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><br /></span></u></b></em>
<em><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-style: normal;">Buy here:<u><o:p></o:p></u></span></b></em><br />
<em><b><u><span lang="EN-US" style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><br /></span></u></b></em>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Amazon US
<b><a href="http://tinyurl.com/nj4lhaw">http://tinyurl.com/nj4lhaw</a></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Amazon UK <a href="http://tinyurl.com/pokd2fr">http://tinyurl.com/pokd2fr</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<b><span lang="EN-US">Exc</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US">erpt:</span></b><br />
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 200%;">Maggie couldn’t
hold back a heavy sigh as she stared at the wedding reception seating chart.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">‘Have they stuck you on the RT as well, honey?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">She glanced back over her shoulder and froze. Smiling right at her
was the handsome stranger she’d noticed across the aisle in the church. She’d
always been a pushover for a man with intriguing eyes and these were tawny,
fringed with lashes so long and dark they should have been illegal, and
sparkling with good humour. <i>Stop that
right now</i>. <i>You don’t do pick-ups at
weddings. It’s undignified and desperate.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Her tone of voice was sharper
than she’d intended.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">‘The Reject Table.’ His deep smooth voice was laced with a delicious
warm drawl she could’ve listened to all night. ‘Of course<i> they</i> wouldn’t call it that, they might gloss it over by using the
term “Independents”, but we know the truth, don’t we?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">‘Do we?’ Maggie bristled. She refused to admit she knew precisely
what he was talking about. She’d endured enough of these ritual humiliations
while seeming unable to sustain a relationship long enough to change her
Facebook status.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">‘Yeah, sure do. I’m guessin’ your English ones are the same as ours.
We’ll have the elderly maiden aunt, the bitter newly divorced third cousin, the
grumpy dishevelled organist,’ he reckoned them all up on his long, well-shaped
fingers, ‘and of course the mandatory gaggle of single strays.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">‘And which category do you fall into?’ Maggie’s brazen question
shocked her into blushing hotly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">‘Take a wild guess,’ he challenged, and stepped closer so his arm
brushed against hers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<i><span lang="EN-US">God, he smells delicious</span></i><span lang="EN-US">. The tempting combination of spicy cologne, soap and something
indefinably male wafted in the air and would’ve made her swoon – if she was the
swooning type. Maggie’s middle name should’ve been Sensible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">‘Well, you’re obviously no one’s maiden aunt. The organist was sixty
if he was a day and no one could describe you as dishevelled. By the process of
elimination I’d say you’re the rogue transatlantic cousin representing the
groom’s American grandmother who’s too old to travel.’ As soon as he’d spoken
it’d clicked in her filing cabinet of a brain. She hadn’t helped the bride with
the seating plans without gathering some useful information.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">‘Spot on.’ His eyes darkened with surprise. ‘How about you?’ Maggie
winced at his direct question. ‘Sorry, sore point?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">She lifted her chin and contrived to look unconcerned. ‘Not at all.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">‘Forgive me. I’m forgettin’ my manners all around today. I can’t
believe I said that to a beautiful lady.’ He thrust out his right hand. ‘I’m
Chad Robertson from Nashville in the great state of Tennessee. By day I’m a
music attorney, and by night I turn into the rogue you rightly determined me to
be. A single one, if you’re at all interested.’ The almost-question hung in the
air between them.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-12149664595471155612015-04-10T12:57:00.000+01:002015-04-10T12:57:33.059+01:00Guest blog - Hannah Fielding: 'Indiscretion'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW_Q903gI7LwkbaUKoyMr6jCR4KlbS2k8jyr55_-DegdR4XV8SAKwr2ZmpGOGb2G5iKAeziGTDtCB-Xu8ewdH0jau9I8yR_NqXrJJzRHCMeNkkcT0gZs7JPEFZlJXntf0_TXl97lbbfgc/s1600/Indescretion+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW_Q903gI7LwkbaUKoyMr6jCR4KlbS2k8jyr55_-DegdR4XV8SAKwr2ZmpGOGb2G5iKAeziGTDtCB-Xu8ewdH0jau9I8yR_NqXrJJzRHCMeNkkcT0gZs7JPEFZlJXntf0_TXl97lbbfgc/s1600/Indescretion+cover.jpg" height="320" width="211" /></a></div>
<i style="text-indent: 36pt;">Indiscretion</i><span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> is the new novel from award-winning romance novelist
Hannah Fielding. Written in Fielding’s signature style, infused with an
old-school Hollywood glamour, </span><i style="text-indent: 36pt;">Indiscretion</i><span style="text-indent: 36pt;">
evokes the drama and passion of 1950s post-war Spain.</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<i>1950’s London. Alexandra, a young writer is bored of her suffocating
but privileged life amongst the gilded balls and parties of Chelsea. Keen for
an adventure, Alexandra travels to Spain to be reunited with her estranged
Spanish family on a huge estate in Andalucía.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<i>Arriving in sun-drenched southern Spain for the first time, Alexandra
is soon caught up in the wild customs of the region. From bull fighting
matadors and the mysterious Gypsy encampments in the grounds of the family’s
estate, to the passionate dances of the region and the incredible horsemanship
of the local caballeros, Alexandra is instantly seduced by the drama and
passion of her new home.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<i>When Alexandra inevitably falls for Salvador, the mercurial heir to her
family’s estate and the region’s most eligible man, she finds herself entangled
in a web of secrets, lies and indiscretion. Alexandra soon falls prey to
scheming members of her own family, the jealousy of a beautiful marquésa and the
predatory charms of a toreador, all intent on keeping the two lovers apart.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<i>But nothing can prepare Alexandra for Salvador’s own dangerous liaisons
with a dark-eyed Gypsy.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<i>Can Alexandra trust that love will triumph, or will Salvador’s
indiscretion be their undoing?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Excerpt<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
For the week leading up to the
masked ball, confusion had reigned on the ground floor at El Pavón. Servants
had shifted out furniture, rolled up carpets, prepared tables for the buffet in
the dining room, and chandeliers, wall sconces, columns and cornices had been
decorated with garlands of bright roses interspersed with jasmine and orange
blossom from the garden. As the evening began, and the sweeping strings of
ballroom music filled the hacienda, El Pavón seemed transformed into a magical
palace.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Although the ball was in full
swing as dusk gave way to night, cars were still arriving. They stopped at the
foot of the stairs with a rasp of gravel and young drivers in dark-grey suits
and caps leapt out to open the doors.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
In the garden, an array of
colourful lanterns hung from arbours, dangled between fruit trees, encircling
the fountains and pools, twinkling with light. While in the great ballroom,
overlooking the east-facing gardens, Doña María Dolores’ guests, attired in all
sorts of disguises, drank, joked and glided happily on the polished oak
dancefloor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The ballroom was long and
rectangular, taking up the entire length of the house. At each end, French
doors opened out on to terraces stocked with exotic plants. Down one side, more
windows led to the wide green lawn at the side of the hacienda. High mirrors
hung between the windows, framed with gilded beading. Supported on marble
columns was a gallery with a wrought-iron balustrade where musicians in evening
dress were playing romantic dance melodies from tangos to Viennese waltzes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Alexandra paused on the threshold
of the vast room, a trifle overwhelmed by the grand spectacle. All the guests
wore masks of velvet, satin or lace, giving them a mysterious air. She watched
for a moment as Ondine, Goddess of the Northern Seas, leant against a column,
lost in a dream, her head slightly tilted to one side. In her long tunic of
turquoise silk sprinkled with iridescent sequins, she appeared to have just
risen from the depths of the ocean, her beautiful golden hair draped gracefully
about her bare shoulders. A torero in black silk breeches, drawn in at the
hips, with a waistcoat brocaded with silk, knee-length stockings and shiny flat
shoes, gazed at her. Just as he had decided to approach, another gallant
figure, Oreste, bearing his father’s sword in his belt, swooped in first and,
bowing deeply before her, drew her on to the dancefloor. They passed a maharani
wearing a magnificent sari of dark gold brocade, who was walking towards the
veranda arm-in-arm with a American Indian in a headdress of multi-coloured
feathers and a jacket of brown suede.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
A hand tapped Alexandra’s
shoulder. Startled, she turned, almost bumping into a couple of waiters
carrying trays laden with appetizing tapas and small glasses of fino sherry.
The intruder was a musketeer in a wide soft hat, loose breeches and a leather
doublet. A black mask hid his twinkling eyes but she recognized the beaming
smile.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
‘Well, Cousin,’ he said
cheerfully, ‘I didn’t have to search very long to find the most beautiful girl
at the ball. I told you I could spot you under any disguise.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
She smiled at Ramón, happy to
find a friend in this sea of masked strangers, but it was difficult to
concentrate on what he was saying. Her eyes were scouring the dancefloor,
eagerly scrutinizing the whirling couples from behind her velvet mask. What, or
more precisely who, was she looking for, exactly? After all, she knew nothing
of the mysterious Conde, except that he had a deep and seductive voice.
Recalling it made her pulse run faster and her knees slightly weak. Could the
peculiar episode at Mascaradas have been merely a foolish jest designed to
mystify her? Surely Old Jaime would not have taken part in a practical joke?
She started with indignation at the idea she might be the victim of some prank.
Yet, the more she thought about it, the more that seemed improbable. It would
be an expensive joke to play, after all. No, the sheer cost of her beautiful
costume had to be proof of the generosity and admiration of her romantic
stranger.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
As the evening progressed and
there was still no sign of the mysterious Conde, Alexandra was forced to admit
that she must have been the victim of a practical joke. It was gone eleven
o’clock, surely he would have shown up by now if he was going to? Putting aside
her disappointment, she told herself it had all been merely a captivating
puzzle, one that had fired her romantic imagination and aroused her yearning
for adventure, nothing more. At least she had some ideas for her new hero, she
reminded herself, and decided to enter fully into the festive spirit, now that
she had given up on her elusive stranger.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
She didn’t notice the oriental
prince, wearing a costume similar in style and colour to her own, observing her
quizzically from a far-off corner of the room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
A pierrot in a black-and-white
silk suit with a collar of pleated tulle and a bonnet decorated with black
pompons asked Alexandra for a dance. She allowed him to move her around the
dancefloor, with only half an ear on the eager conversation he was making as
she took in the sea of colourful guests. It was almost midnight. Don Felipe was
paying court to a shepherdess in a crinoline gown. Further along the room
Mercedes, disguised as a bluebell, wearing a crown of tiny blue flowers and a
dress with a bodice of green velvet and an organdie skirt, with petals of
periwinkle blue, was squabbling with Electra, who was sulking in a corner. Isis
and Osiris were discussing something with a pretty redhead in Savoy costume.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Alexandra was once again aware of
the pierrot, who drew her closer to him. ‘Soon it will be midnight,’ he
whispered into her ear, ‘and the lights will go out—’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
‘Excuse me señor, I’ve come to
collect my wife,’ interrupted a deep, warm voice. Alexandra smothered a gasp.
Her heart gave such a jolt she thought it might leap out of her mouth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The first notes of a Strauss
waltz began. Before she could recover, the stranger swung Alexandra into his
arms, holding her so tightly to him she was unable to lift her head to see his
face. The blood pounded in her veins. She was conscious of his strong, sinuous
length against her and the turmoil of her own body as his warmth soaked into
her, adding to the heat welling up inside her like a furnace. Her temple
brushed against his jaw; his skin was smooth. He smelled of soap, mint and
tobacco, indefinably masculine. As they twirled around the dancefloor,
Alexandra was carried away by an overpowering tide that left her light-headed,
almost breathless. It was as though she were under a spell, a bewitching charm
of the mind and senses that had no place in the dictionary of her experience.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Eventually, the giddy whirlwind
ended and they found themselves on the terrace. In contrast to the brightly lit
ballroom they had left, it was bathed in an almost unreal, diaphanous light
from the moon and the glowing lanterns in the trees. They waltzed in silence
for a few more minutes, taking in the melancholy softness of the night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
‘I owe you an apology for
stepping in just now but I could see no other way of tearing you away from the
arms of your too-forward partner,’ he said, in those same ardent, deep tones
that had so haunted Alexandra over the past few days.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
She caught her breath, unable to
reply immediately and all the while hoping he wasn’t aware of the urgent
beating of her heart. He still held on to her firmly and she could only look up
at him with a smile. The moon disappeared behind a cloud, shadowing his
features.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The stranger was almost a head
taller than Alexandra. Under his light cloak she could see that his costume was
very much like hers. It was in a similar cloth of pure, ivory-coloured silk,
yet less decorated. His head was clad in a plain turban, which entirely
concealed his hair. In the wide faja, the silk band that clasped his waist, he
had placed a navaja, much like the ones Alexandra had noticed at the station in
Puerto de Santa María on the day of her arrival, the difference being his was
set with genuine precious stones. His shoulders were broad; his embrace firm
and close.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
As a shaft of moonlight fell
briefly on his face, Alexandra’s heart missed a beat. In spite of the
half-shadow and the narrow mask shielding his tanned features, she recognized
the stranger she had seen on the seafront and then in the Church of Santa
María: the man on the prayer stool who had so deeply disturbed her. So it was
the same man after all. One man who now made something inside her thrill
deliciously at his nearness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Somewhere far off, a clock struck
midnight. An owl hooted, as if in response. The air was fragrant with the sweet
smell of jasmine and orange blossom. Masks fell and shouts of joy burst from
all sides under a shower of confetti.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The oriental prince leaned his
head forward towards his sultana.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
‘Will you allow me, señorita?’ he
whispered, his lean fingers with infinite gentleness removing her velvet mask.
His gaze delved deeply into her large, glowing green irises, reading the
emotion in her upturned face as her body yielded helplessly to his touch. A
rush of blood coursed wildly through Alexandra’s veins as his hand once more
slipped about her waist, pausing before pulling her against him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUq4PjQbafVWdeoprQ3HDw4Pjgnyo8mKw1aEzMUrXz9cmq1bQQm2MOxbXygXCVVEEzbhwOv1sAyfbNt6asMBlwIrRYoQx_6peERv6N2oLXhk-jSLZy6FOr4Nqe6BHI-_sLj8KqeJcZiaU/s1600/Hannah+Fielding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUq4PjQbafVWdeoprQ3HDw4Pjgnyo8mKw1aEzMUrXz9cmq1bQQm2MOxbXygXCVVEEzbhwOv1sAyfbNt6asMBlwIrRYoQx_6peERv6N2oLXhk-jSLZy6FOr4Nqe6BHI-_sLj8KqeJcZiaU/s1600/Hannah+Fielding.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Hannah Fielding bio<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Hannah Fielding is an incurable
romantic. The seeds for her writing career were sown in early childhood, spent
in Egypt, when she came to an agreement with her governess Zula: for each fairy
story Zula told, Hannah would invent and relate one of her own. Years later –
following a degree in French literature, several years of travelling in Europe,
falling in love with an Englishman, the arrival of two beautiful children and a
career in property development – Hannah decided after so many years of yearning
to write that the time was now. Today, she lives the dream: writing full time
at her homes in Kent, England, and the South of France, where she dreams up
romances overlooking breath-taking views of the Mediterranean. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
To date, Hannah has published three
novels: <i>Burning Embers</i>, ‘romance like
Hollywood used to make’, set in Kenya, 1970; the award-winning <i>Echoes of Love</i>, ‘an epic love story that
is beautifully told’ set in turn-of-the-millennium Italy; and <i>Indiscretion</i>, her fieriest novel yet,
set in 1950s Spain.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Social links<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Website: <a href="http://www.hannahfielding.net/">www.hannahfielding.net</a><br />
Twitter: <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/fieldinghannah">http://twitter.com/#!/fieldinghannah</a><br />
Facebook: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/fieldinghannah">http://www.facebook.com/fieldinghannah</a><br />
Goodreads: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5333898.Hannah_Fielding">http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5333898.Hannah_Fielding</a><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Purchase links<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Indiscretion-Secrets-passion-scorching-Andalucian-ebook/dp/B00VGCV97E/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=8-1&qid=1428488224">Amazon.co.uk</a>;
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Indiscretion-Secrets-passion-scorching-Andalucian-ebook/dp/B00VGCV97E/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=&qid=">Amazon.com</a>;
<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/indiscretion-hannah-fielding/1120679870?ean=9780992671877">Barnes
& Noble</a><b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-24606878521001847332015-02-14T08:00:00.000+00:002015-02-14T08:00:11.987+00:00Guest blog - Sharon Black: 'Going Against Type'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">BLURB:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;"><br />
</span></b><span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;"><i>Some would say
Charlotte ‘Charlie’ Regan has it all. Beautiful, smart, athletic and a great
job working as a journalist – in the almost exclusively male sports department.
But Charlotte is not quite as sure as she seems. Recently split from her
overbearing boyfriend, she escapes for weekends, surfing in the Atlantic, and
spends her free nights watching sports, roaring at the TV.<br />
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;"><i>Derry Cullinane is a fashion
writer, gossip columnist and sophisticated man-about-town. The go-to guy for
any woman seeking expert advice on what fabulous outfit to wear for any given
occasion. He’s also tall, dark, good looking – and straight! So what’s the
snag? He has a track record of dating glamorous, vain and shallow women.<br />
Charlie gets an opportunity to write a new column under the pen name Side
Swipe, but is soon drawn into a war of words and wit with a rival paper’s
columnist The Squire – and their verbal fireworks get readers and editors
talking. Yet neither Charlie nor Derry knows just whom the opponent is...<br />
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;"><i>When Charlotte and Derry
meet at the Races, the attraction is instant. As their relationship develops,
so much more proves at stake, than protecting their alter egos. But a blunder
puts Charlotte’s job in jeopardy just as Derry’s past makes front page, and
Charlotte begins to doubt her feelings. <br />
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><i>When Side Swipe and
The Squire are finally forced to reveal themselves, will they revert to type –
or confound everyone’s expectations?</i></span><br />
<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2489" style="color: #0066cc;"><a dir="ltr" href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/GoingAgainstType?src=hash" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2490" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><s id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2491">#</s><b id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2488"><strong id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2487">GoingAgainstType</strong></b></a></span> <a dir="ltr" href="http://t.co/C5boVsSnHr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2481" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" title="http://ow.ly/Dmcqs"></a></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2480"><b>Amazon.com:</b> <a dir="ltr" href="http://t.co/C5boVsSnHr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2481" rel="nofollow" style="color: #0066cc;" target="_blank" title="http://ow.ly/Dmcqs"><span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2479">http://</span><span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2483">ow.ly/Dmcqs</span><span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2510"><span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2509"> </span></span></a></span><span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2512" style="color: #0066cc;"><a dir="ltr" href="http://t.co/uUsMyG9E2E" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2513" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" title="http://amzn.to/1yqt0l5"><span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2511">http://</span><span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2514">amzn.to/1yqt0l5</span><span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2516"><span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423043315535_2515"> </span></span></a></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><b>EXCERPT:</b></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘You look great,’ Helen said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘You sure? I was just going to wear those black jeans.
Thing is, I distinctly gave Derry the impression that I enjoyed fashion.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘Well, maybe if he’d given you a little more notice!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘Oh Helen, don’t start. He explained he got the
tickets late and wasn’t pressuring me...’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘Hmm, well so long as he’s not playing games. Don’t
let him away with that.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Charlotte rolled her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘I'm serious,’ Helen said, ‘there’s a reason he’s in
his mid-thirties and not in a long term relationship. Don’t let him mess you
about.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘Relax, there’s no danger of that,’ Charlotte laughed.
‘I need a bit of fun in my life at the moment. I've no intention of falling
heavily for this guy.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Helen winked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘So you’re just using him for sex!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘Helen!’ Charlotte started to laugh. They both jumped
when the doorbell rang.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘I’ll get it,’ Helen offered, ‘you don’t want to look
too eager!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Charlotte started to hiccup. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘Oh my God, Helen! Have you been learning off The
Rules?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘If I’d been doing that, I’d have sorted my own love
life out by now! Helen left Charlotte’s bedroom door open and a few moments
later, she heard Derry’s deep voice in the hall, and Helen laughing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">She came downstairs. Derry stood in the hall, casually
elegant in a dark suit and tailored shirt. He smiled broadly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘You look beautiful.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Charlotte hiccupped loudly. Derry raised an amused
eyebrow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘Um, sorry, I’m sure they’ll stop in a minute.’
Charlotte flushed. Okay Charlotte, stay calm. It’s only a second date. Derry
escorted her to his car and opened the passenger door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘Have you seen this play before?’ Derry asked as he
slid in behind the wheel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">‘No. Actually, I haven’t been to the theatre in ages,’
Charlotte confessed. ‘Sports journalist, remember? A hooligan who can spell.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[endif]--></span>Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-13489857308458990302014-06-24T08:00:00.000+01:002014-06-24T14:20:00.955+01:00Character Corner <div style="margin: 0px;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixk9woLHWaifMHwmRWsqcUY7Eru71-tk251CJkLBsKqQHGTvw2bRvzUH6yB5PsHkIIsJ4vJb726m2IYv9XV0WlmA8USQcFSOeDLFgvgXnJe414XRZGIwx8Mx4_NI81A3P_jgUCbrFkRPs/s1600/file000407888703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixk9woLHWaifMHwmRWsqcUY7Eru71-tk251CJkLBsKqQHGTvw2bRvzUH6yB5PsHkIIsJ4vJb726m2IYv9XV0WlmA8USQcFSOeDLFgvgXnJe414XRZGIwx8Mx4_NI81A3P_jgUCbrFkRPs/s1600/file000407888703.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I'm fascinated by the process of creating characters and how, by the time I've finished writing a novel, it feels as though the characters have become friends! Sound crazy?</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Well, continuing the character theme I've 'interviewed' Faith from my latest novel If You Only Knew and asked her all sorts of searching questions about life, men, romance and her most embarrassing moment.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Over to you Faith...</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>1) What three qualities do you find most attractive in a partner?</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A great sense of humour is important to me; I like a guy who can make me laugh. A fun personality is always great. Loyalty and honesty are essential too I think.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0q9-MH7SjysWJXi0IbtmTKfsZrTNQICc6IQd-2bPFOLmEpSTWj8MqckOL_gDTiIy_3eWr6BXElCslZPmXS5RzsE0oZHnZrX5rPVyDTzyxquRvIcIW11coEfZ41qs-m0iMWpgbcDvZm8/s1600/file4641249263882.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0q9-MH7SjysWJXi0IbtmTKfsZrTNQICc6IQd-2bPFOLmEpSTWj8MqckOL_gDTiIy_3eWr6BXElCslZPmXS5RzsE0oZHnZrX5rPVyDTzyxquRvIcIW11coEfZ41qs-m0iMWpgbcDvZm8/s1600/file4641249263882.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>2) What’s your idea of romance?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I think romance can be lots of things – a guy doing something really kind and thoughtful; flowers and candlelight; sharing a picnic on a hill overlooking stunning countryside; cuddling on the sofa in front of a log fire; walking hand in hand in the snow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>3) Who's your favorite on-screen couple (Film or TV)?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Probably Emily Blunt and Matt Damon in the film The Adjustment Bureau, their characters have great chemistry, joke around together and there’s a strong and instant attraction too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>4) What's been your most embarrassing moment in regards to the opposite sex?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Being thoroughly humiliated by my first love Aaron. We were at college together. Things ended badly. Let’s just say he was a complete pig.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>5) What was your first impression of your partner or crush? How accurate was it?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I thought Zane reminded me too much of my first love Aaron, a guy I’d spent the last ten years trying to forget. I was partly right; I probably should have stayed away from Zane if I was being sensible about things...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzUhblSb5leyYNoSSxgta5jY3Ehijhw_JakFxhpqfltHPJgvodbDZWPkGbOB3_Em0GvuHfdsldGQmLqTkVEQZwA0W_w_vlk_0nwlKiiTx7M8d1ji6WnI0Prijk-NcrwsIVYJW3xE-zio/s1600/broken-heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzUhblSb5leyYNoSSxgta5jY3Ehijhw_JakFxhpqfltHPJgvodbDZWPkGbOB3_Em0GvuHfdsldGQmLqTkVEQZwA0W_w_vlk_0nwlKiiTx7M8d1ji6WnI0Prijk-NcrwsIVYJW3xE-zio/s1600/broken-heart.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>6) How have you coped with break-ups in the past?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The first time I had my heart broken I never really recovered. It's difficult isn't it? I’d say I’ve always had my guard up since then. Until Zane arrived in town that is...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>7) Which hot actor would you want to be stranded on a deserted island with and why?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Only one? There’s so many I could be tempted by…. Let me see, OK, I have a bit of a crush at the moment on Brett Dalton who plays Agent Grant Ward in Marvel Agents Of SHIELD. He looks like a very practical kind of guy as well which would be useful for building a shelter and making a camp fire! I like guys who are practical, good with their hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>8) What is the craziest thing you've ever done for love?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I almost gave up on all my dreams to help Aaron, my first love, live his. I’ll never make that mistake again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>9) PDA: How much is acceptable? </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I’m happy with kissing, cuddles, holding hands, that sort of stuff but not excessively, not too much lovey dovey stuff around other people, I get a bit embarrassed if it becomes more than that!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRn9RGJm8TtH0q-37Y-ZOdmWK-10uifJssbP5KBVA1F3jYxvfzV082U-GwGvgnBjyVE4V7D8ZZQJP3kWRmWhCj-yVmfF676DvRlEzmwFcP18pRUomuHnjqcmK9tablzwe55acJrNvqHIY/s1600/file0001508919007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRn9RGJm8TtH0q-37Y-ZOdmWK-10uifJssbP5KBVA1F3jYxvfzV082U-GwGvgnBjyVE4V7D8ZZQJP3kWRmWhCj-yVmfF676DvRlEzmwFcP18pRUomuHnjqcmK9tablzwe55acJrNvqHIY/s1600/file0001508919007.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>10) What is the best relationship advice you've ever gotten?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Never trust a guy? Can I say that or does it sound too mean? Well, I guess I’d say it’s important to talk and be honest with each other when you’re in a relationship. Keeping secrets only leads to trouble, as I discovered to my cost in If You Only Knew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Is the past about to destroy the future for Faith when she discovers her new boyfriend and her first love are in business together?<b><u><o:p></o:p></u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Faith owns The Coffee Pot in the outdoor adventure sports mecca of Derbyshire’s Peak District. She hasn’t had a man in her life for a while, as she has been too busy serving cakes to weary rock climbers and mountain bikers to find time for the complications of a relationship with the male of the species.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then Zane and Matt arrive on the scene as the new owners of the Carrdale Adventure Sports Centre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Dating Zane, she soon discovers he’s not the Mr Perfect she thought he was; and why is he so reluctant to talk about his past?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As for Matt – well, to Faith he isn’t Matt at all because he was a completely different person when he broke her heart all those years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">With her new boyfriend and her first love running Carrdale as business partners – Matt out to cause trouble and Zane keeping secrets – Faith struggles to keep the peace between them whilst trying to figure out how she feels about the two men in her life…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Read an extract:</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I guess that’s the man
you’ve been waiting for.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sophie nudged Faith,
almost knocking the fresh-from-the-oven apple pie from her hands, and pointed
towards the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Faith chose to ignore
the double meaning behind her friend’s words. She wasn’t waiting for any man,
not in the romantic sense anyway, and certainly not a guy who reminded her of
Aaron. Her café, which she had created from scratch six years ago, was hosting
the meeting of the local Tourism Association. And the guy currently making his
way towards her was Zane Ferguson, one half of the new ownership team of the
Carrdale Outdoor Activity & Extreme Sports Centre. She’d reluctantly phoned
him a few days ago when he’d arrived in the UK and invited him to the meeting
to give everyone an update on the Centre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Faith, right?” he
said, extending his hand and hopping onto one of the stools in front of the
café’s counter. The hand was firm, slightly rough to the touch and warm. It was
strangely comforting. “I’m Zane. Good to get to put a face to your name at
last.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Faith nodded, even
though she was anything but pleased to put a face to the name of Zane Ferguson.
What kind of a name was Zane anyway? It sounded all-American, as though he
should be something like a baseball player, a superhero, or a cowboy –
certainly not an English extreme sports instructor. Out of the corner of her
eye she could see Sophie giving Zane the once-over. Sophie knew all about
Aaron, knew every detail of what had happened…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05331826703790442374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-79183670482553241372014-04-07T08:00:00.000+01:002014-04-07T08:00:00.033+01:00Guest blog: JoAnne Myers - Writing True Crime<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaCLFBeglVkqeeHRsrxfqiuiCe36dBvNVe6M6KzOwnWUq4dDwEB20gpzMXejDUJ-5jxdHM767DpHTNLoFraaxMdMwtbcOtIM61IWzHAYHQ9FWiHloE7y5buJ2BASCNcdmKhOMHgRt3tQY/s1600/The+Crime+of+the+Century+eimage+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaCLFBeglVkqeeHRsrxfqiuiCe36dBvNVe6M6KzOwnWUq4dDwEB20gpzMXejDUJ-5jxdHM767DpHTNLoFraaxMdMwtbcOtIM61IWzHAYHQ9FWiHloE7y5buJ2BASCNcdmKhOMHgRt3tQY/s1600/The+Crime+of+the+Century+eimage+%25281%2529.jpg" height="320" width="211" /></a></div>
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First you must pick an interesting crime. I specialize in homicides in my home state of Ohio. Routinely reading newspapers will help the writer find murder cases. Find a homicide that has numerous good elements that will hold one’s interest.</div>
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Next you must start the investigation of your chosen crime. To find my information, I read newspaper reports of the homicide. I searched court documents for witness reports, and courtroom testimony. I interviewed witnesses. Persons that either were present when the crime occurred, or had after the fact information. Try to locate the victim’s family members, and see if they want their side of the story told. If the case goes to trial, the Defense’s job is to discredit the victim. To portray the deceased as the “bad guy.” This type of mud slinging does not sit well with loved ones of the victim. Give them a chance to speak for the deceased. Anyone that was involved with the case, will have something of interest to report. Don’t forget to locate the reports of the arresting officers and the homicide detectives. Try to locate the coroners report, any eyewitness, or person’s who reported hearing an altercation or gunshots. </div>
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Keep abreast of updates, and read everything that was written about the case. Build a relationship with the law enforcement officials who are involved in the case. I personally live in a very small town, where most person’s know one another, and many have relatives or close friends that are involved with law enforcement. Attend the trial and speak to everyone you can about the criminal, the victim and prosecution and defense witness. </div>
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Last but not least, sit down and write. Now it is time to tell the story of the crime. Hopefully you will find most of the information you need in your copious notes--if not go back and get the answers you need. Never throw away any notes or information concerning the case. Not even after the trial is over with, and the story is written. Most convicted felons apply for numerous appeals, which take years to dissolve. Some cases never seem to end; The Crime of the Century was such a case. When the accused was found guilty and sent to prison, he and his attorneys, who always believed him innocent, continued fighting for his freedom. That blessed event came after the convicted spent five years on death row. He was cleared with DNA, but it still took nearly thirty years to find the true killers. If you want your true crime novel to be believable, you can't fudge the facts.</div>
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On <i>The Crime of the Century</i>:</div>
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The residents of Rolling Hills, a hamlet in southeastern Ohio, were horrified when the dismembered bodies of two missing teens were pulled from the local river. Multiply suspects surfaced, but only one was railroaded, Richard Allan Lloyd, a known nudist and hothead. </div>
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What began as an evening stroll turned into what found only in horror films, and dubbed ‘the crime of the century’. 18 year old Babette, a voluptuous beauty contestant and horsewoman, and her 19 year old boyfriend Shane Shoemaker, a jealous and possessive unemployed printer, were last seen crossing a trestle bridge. Within fourteen days, their mutilated torsos and severed heads and limbs were unearthed, suggesting satanic cult activity. </div>
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With an investigation smeared with contradicting statements, and a botched crime scene, investigators built a flimsy case against Richard Lloyd. The three-week trial was based on police corruption and ineptitude, fairytale theories, and forensic mishandling. </div>
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This heinous crime shattered the sense of security for Rolling Hills, destroyed two families, and forever scarred the town. This story is a detailed account of finding justice for Babette and Shane, and of one man’s perseverance to gain his freedom from death row.</div>
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Other books by JoAnne:</div>
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<i>Murder Most Foul</i>-a detective/mystery</div>
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<i>Wicked Intentions</i>-a paranormal anthology</div>
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<i>Poems About Life, Love, and Everything in Between</i></div>
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<i>Loves, Myths, and Monsters</i>-a fantasy anthology</div>
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Upcoming Releases: </div>
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<i>Twisted Love</i>- a biography true crime anthology available in May</div>
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<i>Flagitious</i>-a detective/mystery novella anthology </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8lx7dbKTfosTcLC_rWVROJZbuMfGo2ijoEKbzoaZPxjOsVFpE63xz7S6omnjJe50cr82lxR9p4SWoW3GjAwmxod9oXI0-dWtj26uRdlAyQBTCZwfJeInRRxtvkuH5HOr95sLIenrJLm4/s1600/my+photo+apr+2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8lx7dbKTfosTcLC_rWVROJZbuMfGo2ijoEKbzoaZPxjOsVFpE63xz7S6omnjJe50cr82lxR9p4SWoW3GjAwmxod9oXI0-dWtj26uRdlAyQBTCZwfJeInRRxtvkuH5HOr95sLIenrJLm4/s1600/my+photo+apr+2011.jpg" height="200" width="145" /></a>Author Bio:</div>
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JoAnne has been a long-time resident of southeastern Ohio, and has worked in the blue-collar industry most of her life. Besides having several novels under her belt, JoAnne canvas paints. </div>
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When not busy with hobbies or working outside her home, JoAnne spends time with her relatives, her dogs Jasmine and Scooter, and volunteers her time within the community. JoAnne is a member of the International Women’s Writing Guild, Savvy Authors, Coffee Time Romance, Paranormal Romance Guild, True Romance Studios, National Writers Association, the Hocking Hill's Arts and Craftsmen Association, The Hocking County Historical Society and Museum, and the Hocking Hills Regional Welcome Center. JoAnne believes in family values and following your dreams.</div>
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JoAnne’s books along with her original canvas paintings, can be found at her website, Books and Paintings by JoAnne: <u id="yui_3_13_0_1_1396780425549_3594"><span id="yui_3_13_0_1_1396780425549_3593" style="color: blue;"><span id="yui_3_13_0_1_1396780425549_3592" lang="EN"><a href="http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com/" id="yui_3_13_0_1_1396780425549_3595" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" target="_blank">http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com</a></span></span></u></div>
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Blog: <a href="http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com/page2" id="yui_3_13_0_1_1396780425549_3566" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" target="_blank">http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com/page2</a> </div>
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<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/wwwjoannemyerscom" id="yui_3_13_0_1_1396780425549_3572" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" target="_blank"><u id="yui_3_13_0_1_1396780425549_3571"><span id="yui_3_13_0_1_1396780425549_3570" style="color: blue;"><span id="yui_3_13_0_1_1396780425549_3569" lang="EN">https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/wwwjoannemyerscom</span></span></u><span style="color: blue;"></span></a><span lang="EN"><br clear="none" /></span></div>
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Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-444867361148854352014-03-23T15:29:00.000+00:002014-03-23T15:29:32.057+00:00Romancing the Fantasy - Stuart AkenWith a
week to the release of the first of his Fantasy trilogy: <a href="http://www.fantasticbookspublishing.com/" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Seared Sky: Joinings</i></a>, Stuart Aken talks about Romance in Fantasy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRyOe4CiRW6gJP4aKSwMGu93dkB-FRIETdhnvlYxeIICjUo7RytYcS3Net-i_YGzkPXeSAf7VN-yZn4JJbriDLBYOwGEvq0_QcI7oN8co8j81AHaUOUIvrvSkUIii7yEuXKdfrvH2j2fg/s1600/SeriousTux-Couple-in-Heart.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRyOe4CiRW6gJP4aKSwMGu93dkB-FRIETdhnvlYxeIICjUo7RytYcS3Net-i_YGzkPXeSAf7VN-yZn4JJbriDLBYOwGEvq0_QcI7oN8co8j81AHaUOUIvrvSkUIii7yEuXKdfrvH2j2fg/s1600/SeriousTux-Couple-in-Heart.png" width="200" /></a></div>
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Romance
in fantasy? But, isn’t fantasy all about dragons, swords and sorcery, maybe
elves, goblins and other magical folk? That’s certainly the image projected by
much that falls under the umbrella of ‘epic fantasy’.</div>
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Fantasy,
of course, includes dozens of sub-genres, and strays into areas reserved for
other forms. Perhaps, before continuing, we need to define what fantasy is in
regard to story-telling? It’s a tale set in a world, time, or dimension, or a
combination of these, different from what we believe is reality. It may also involve
animals as protagonists as well as beings that don’t exist in the known world.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Animal Farm</i>, the Twilight series, the
cult of Demonic Eroticism, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alice in
Wonderland</i>, paranormal stories, much of soft science fiction, animal-based
novels like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Stonor Eagles</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Watership Down</i>, and many others fall
within the wider definition of fantasy. And, clearly, romance does exist within
this broader definition.</div>
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Noticeably,
however, it’s far less common in epic fantasy. One reason may be that this specific
sub-genre is often aimed at the YA/teen market and, more specifically, at boys.
Boys are not, as a rule, attracted by romance. Sex, yes, but romance, no.
There’s no more than a hint of romance in the most famous epic fantasy, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lord of the Rings</i> trilogy (Sam and
Rosie, Arwen and Aragon), and this holds true for many within the genre. With
the entry of more female authors into the field, it is becoming more common.</div>
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Perhaps
we should also define ‘epic fantasy’? It usually involves a world that is ‘other’,
a quest, magic in some form, battles, and themes that include ‘good versus
evil’. But romance? Not commonly, especially from male authors.</div>
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No
rules, and no valid reasons, exclude romance from epic fantasy. My own feeling
is that the inclusion enhances such a tale and allows readers to enjoy the
invented world much more. So, perhaps it depends on what readership the author
envisages. In fact, I suspect that the exclusion of a romantic element has
actively discouraged many readers who would otherwise appreciate this form of
fiction.</div>
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My epic
fantasy trilogy, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Seared Sky</i>, is
aimed at an adult readership, though it is also suitable for a YA audience over
the age of 15. I’ve woven the story around three sets of couples in each of the
three volumes. These threads are romantically based, though the underlying
story they carry is far more complex than that simple scenario might imply. I
have some magic, in the form of a limited type of telepathy. I have battles,
physical and mental, involving war between good and evil. And I have a central
quest, involving many characters in a search for what they believe is a crucial
artefact.</div>
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Romance
is as fundamental to the telling of my tale as any other element. But the story
remains a fantasy and is an epic, covering adventure over many lands in an
invented world. Will you see it in those terms? Discover for yourself. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Joinings</i>, the first volume, is published
by <a href="http://www.fantasticbookspublishing.com/" target="_blank">Fantastic Books Publishing</a> on 30<sup>th</sup> March in both paperback and
ebook formats. There’s a launch party, to which you’re all invited. The
publisher is putting on quite a show. It’s a virtual event, online, so you can
attend from anywhere in the world. To find out more, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/263130767190284/" target="_blank">click this link</a>.</div>
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P.S. As
an illustration of how little romance there is in epic fantasy, I searched for
hours to find a suitable illustration for this post and the one up top was the
best I could find!</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">[cross-posted from <a href="http://www.lindaacaster.com/" target="_blank">Linda Acaster's site</a> 23.03.14] </span></div>
Linda Acasterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03096791092366530129noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-79583312540984401512014-02-21T13:00:00.000+00:002014-02-21T13:00:04.169+00:00Release Day: Shadowed Lights<p><em><sup><em><font size="3"><a href="http://www.ellamkaye.com/"><img title="SLcover-72p-9x6" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; float: left; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="SLcover-72p-9x6" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Yn99N8Jes48/UwVpkgva_uI/AAAAAAAAAXE/6YrY_safux8/SLcover-72p-9x6%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="204" align="left" height="310"></a>When her sister loses her house to Hurricane Sandy, Delaney Griffin welcomes the family into her home. Months later, with five noisy kids and an overbearing brother-in-law threatening her sanity, Delaney spends much of her free time at the wildlife refuge, which also works as her refuge. Still, the lack of privacy, along with space to dance, her only passionate release, causes her debilitating social anxiety to escalate.</font></em></sup></em> <p><sup><em><font size="3">Eli Forrester has come from small town Indiana to Barnegat, New Jersey with his company to help restore the coast. A high rise worker who loves new people and new places, he fears nothing, except water. When he accidentally kicks one of the sea critters Delaney is trying to help rescue, he is drawn to the quiet New Jersey girl. Unwilling to take her cues to leave her alone, Eli is alternately put off and turned on by her odd behavior.</font></em></sup> <p><font size="3"><sup><em>Under shadow of devastation, fear, and forced separation, Delaney and Eli search for their own rescue light.<br>~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~</em></sup></font></p> <p><sup><strong><font size="3">Excerpt:</font></strong></sup></p> <p><font size="3">“Hey, Miss Starfish.”</font> <p><font size="3">Delaney turned at the familiar voice and saw the smiling stud with wavy brown hair, dirty jeans, plaid work shirt, and heavy boots striding toward her. Why was he there? And why was he talking to her again after she’d been such an idiot the night before? Trying to decide whether to hurry away or figure out how to talk to him without sounding like a complete idiot, she felt her heart start to race and her face get warm. St<i>op it. He doesn’t matter</i>. Telling herself he didn’t matter and he would go back to wherever he came from soon, she forced a deep slow breath to try to calm her heart as her feet stuck to the sand.</font> <p><font size="3">He eyed her too close as he approached and she got warmer as she avoided his gaze. Her head started to spin as it had the night before while she was forcing herself to look calm and speak somewhat intelligently. </font> <p><font size="3">He was too close; he studied her too hard. “Are you often out here at night?”</font> <p><font size="3">She couldn’t breathe. Somehow, she had to figure out how to answer in between remembering how rude she’d been the night before. Unintentionally. But it made her feel like an idiot. Why was he there?</font> <p><font size="3">“Okay, bad question. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”</font> <p><font size="3">“No. You didn’t.” Her voice came out stronger than she intended since she was trying hard not to let it shake. Sweat formed under her arms. “I have to...” She looked over to where the others were gathering and walked away, hurried away.</font> <p><font size="3">Why hadn’t she told him what she was doing? Because he would have rolled his eyes like everyone did. She didn’t want him to look at her that way. Like it mattered what he thought. It didn’t. Why did she care? She didn’t. But her stomach twisted when he caught up.</font> <p><font size="3">“Have to?” He walked beside her but backward. “You’re doing all this saving fish stuff because you have to? Let me guess. Community service? What did you do?”</font> <p><font size="3">“What?” Delaney stopped.</font> <p><font size="3">“Did you cross their red tape?”</font> <p><font size="3">“You think I...” Too flustered to finish her thought, she rushed away. Maybe she should have told him he was right, that it was community service. It would sound far more interesting than the truth; she would sound far less stuffy, less ... but she couldn’t.<br>~~ ~~ ~~<br><br><font color="#c0504d">Ella M. Kaye writes sensual contemporary romances revolving around dancers of various genres in lighthouse settings. Find her at </font><a href="http://www.ellamkaye.com/"><font color="#9b00d3">EllaMKaye.com</font></a><br><br><br></p> <div id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:e4d62247-e351-4549-8e3a-40e327032369" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" style="float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/romance" rel="tag">romance</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/contemporary" rel="tag">contemporary</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/dance" rel="tag">dance</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Barnegat+Bay" rel="tag">Barnegat Bay</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/beach" rel="tag">beach</a></div></font> Ella M. Kayehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18131611432608857620noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-48979380721922326552014-02-03T15:53:00.000+00:002014-04-06T11:52:49.894+01:00Guest blog: JoAnn Myers - 'The Crime of the Century'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I hail from the famous Hocking Hills region of southeastern Ohio. I have
worked in the blue-collar industry most of my life. Besides having several
novels under my belt, I also canvass paint.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When not busy with hobbies or working outside the home, I spend time
with relatives, my dogs Jasmine and Scooter, and volunteer my time within the
community. I am a member of the Hocking Hill's Arts and Craftsmen Association,
The Hocking County Historical Society and Museum, and the Hocking Hills
Regional Welcome Center. I believe in family values and following your dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> “THE
CRIME OF THE CENTURY” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The residents of
Rolling Hills, an economically ruined bedroom community of the Appalachian
region of southeastern Ohio, were horrified when the dismembered bodies of
missing teenage sweethearts, Shane Shoemaker and Babette Lloyd, were pulled
from the murky and meandering local river. Multiply suspects surfaced,
including relatives, ex-lovers, Satanists, and the Devil's Disciple’s
motorcycle gang, but only one was railroaded, Babette’s stepfather, Richard
Allan Lloyd, a known nudist and hothead. The rumors of his and Babette’s
incestuous relationship only electrified the townsfolk and local authorities’
hatred against him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> What really happened on
that cool autumn evening of 1982? What began as an evening stroll turned into
what found only in horror films, and dubbed ‘the crime of the century’. 18 year old Babette, a voluptuous beauty
contestant, horsewoman, and aspiring computer programmer, and her 19 year old
boyfriend Shane Shoemaker, a jealous and possessive unemployed printer, were
last seen walking toward the C&O Railroad tracks, crossing a trestle bridge
that overlooked the river, near an infamous 52-acrea cornfield. Twelve days
later, a search party found their mutilated torsos. After another two days
their heads and limbs were unearthed, suggesting satanic cult activity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Richard Lloyd was the
main suspect from the beginning. It took nearly a year, but in an investigation
smeared with contradicting statements, and a botched crime scene, investigators
built a flimsy case against him. A financially motivated local mistakenly
fingered Richard, accusing him of forcing the teens into a car at gun point.
The police alleged Richard then killed the victims at his mobile home seven
miles from Rolling Hills, with his wife and other step-daughter as witnesses.
They accused him of dismembering the victims before transporting them to the
Rolling Hills cornfield for burial. The
state insisted a ancestral relationship between Richard and Babette existed,
and the reason for the jealousy killings, and Richard’s immense hatred for
Shane Shoemaker. Richard’s multiply lies, his lust and jealousy for Babette,
weapons availability, the hypnotized “eyewitness” and a disputed footprint
expert bolstered the states misguided case against the now dubbed “evil
stepfather.” Most of what was presented at the three-week trial was based on
police corruption and ineptitude, melodramatic fiction, and forensic
mishandling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> As a resident of
Rolling Hills, Ohio, I, JoAnne Myers contrived “The Crime of the Century,”
through case documents, newspaper clippings, signed affidavits, witness
testimony, interviews, police reports, theories and rumors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> This heinous crime not
only shattered the sense of security for Rolling Hills, but destroyed two
families, marriages, careers, friendships, and forever scarred the town. This
story is a detailed account of finding justice for Babette and Shane, of human
injustice at the highest level, of one man’s perseverance to prove his
innocence, and gain his freedom from death row, and righting a wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Richard Lloyd was
released on appeal after sitting on death row for five years. Prosecutors opted not to re-try him, but
Lloyd and his family remained under a cloud of presumed guilt for 28-years. In
2008, two career criminals were indicted and convicted for the homicides. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Order your copy of “The Crime of the Century” by JoAnne Myers here <u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.blackrosewriting.com/non-fiction/the-crime-of-the-century-a-shocking-true-story"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.blackrosewriting.com/non-fiction/the-crime-of-the-century-a-shocking-true-story</span></a></span></u><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My books along with my canvass artwork can be viewed and purchased on <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Books and Paintings by JoAnne <u><span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com/">http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com</a></span></span></u><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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My website Blog: <a href="http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com/page2">http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com/page2</a><br />
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Smashwords: <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/wwwjoannemyerscom">https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/wwwjoannemyerscom</a><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Other books by JoAnne:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Murder Most Foul-a detective/mystery story<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Loves, Myths, and Monsters,-a fantasy anthology<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Wicked Intentions-a paranormal/mystery anthology<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Coming Soon:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Twisted Love-a biography true crime anthology<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Flagitious-a crime/mystery novella anthology<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-18028671372416243802014-01-08T18:37:00.001+00:002014-01-08T18:37:19.941+00:00Killer Scents - Romantic Suspense by Adelle Lauden<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>The Florists' gruesome journey began in Killer Scents.... </b></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/RYgLCttOazw" width="420"></iframe></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ead1dc; color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-family: Pristina; font-size: 27px; line-height: 31px;">"</span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Pristina; font-size: 27px; line-height: 31px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Pristina; font-size: 27px; line-height: 31px;">In Scent of a Killer, the nightmare is far from over for the two Harley riding detectives. The Florist is on the run with one thing on his mind.... revenge.</span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Pristina; font-size: 27px; line-height: 31px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Pristina; font-size: 27px; line-height: 31px;">"</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="background-color: #ead1dc; font-family: Pristina; font-size: 27px; line-height: 31px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Scent-Killer-Sequel-Scents-ebook/dp/B00EFMKZ72">Available on Amazon</a></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw7vuIQV71A4v8OC6w67iMNBCUhyAVL1KiOwuralb8tq2c6rTickifKImZ1HHOXEIdzublkHng1gE0udX1cIu4MnRpXebaocwaR7GX2b-FsP0wrai9Wz4kSe6C4rMPaY6ZgQPQBLPCdLRu/s1600/Scent+of+a+Killer+Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw7vuIQV71A4v8OC6w67iMNBCUhyAVL1KiOwuralb8tq2c6rTickifKImZ1HHOXEIdzublkHng1gE0udX1cIu4MnRpXebaocwaR7GX2b-FsP0wrai9Wz4kSe6C4rMPaY6ZgQPQBLPCdLRu/s320/Scent+of+a+Killer+Cover.jpg" height="320" width="236" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Not even being locked up in an
insane asylum is going to stand in the way of Danny aka The Florist exacting
his revenge. Detective Becca Talbot is at the top of his list, but he can’t
resist the temptation to mess with her mind first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Becca doesn't know how
much more she can take of Danny’s sinister acts. It seems they are one step
behind every move he makes. How can they turn the tables and catch him in his
own tangled web? More importantly, can they do it before anyone else falls prey
to his demented mind? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Excerpt:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">From the
corner of her eye, she spotted a girl dressed in a long peasant skirt, carrying
a basket filled with red roses. Her heartbeat raced as the girl’s gaze settled
on her and she began crossing the distance between them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Excuse me,
gentlemen. I need to use the little girls’ room.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Becca
squelched the hysteria rising up as she reached the flower girl and lightly
clasped her arm. “Please follow me,” she said as loud as she dared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The young
girl nodded discreetly as she continued on her solo way to the bathroom. Once
inside, Becca put her hands on either side of a sink and dropped her head,
breathing in and out slowly in a futile attempt to remain calm. Seconds passed
before the door opened and the girl came in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Is
everything okay?” Her hand moved as if in slow motion to take a rose and
present it to her. “A gentleman in the foyer asked me to deliver this to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her hand
trembled as she took the purple rose from the oblivious woman. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“What did
this man look like?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She shrugged.
“I couldn’t tell. He wore a hat and long coat, and some kind of scarf hid his
face except for his eyes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Didn’t you
find his appearance a little odd?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“At first
yes, until he told me about your dinner date and his allergic reaction to seafood
and being covered in hives.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Becca shook
her head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The girl lifted
her basket slightly. “If it’s okay, I really need to get back to work.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Oh, of
course ...?” She searched for a name tag on the girls’ shapeless dress. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Jennifer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Thank you, Jennifer.
Do me a huge favor and keep this incident between us?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jennifer
mimed zipping her mouth shut before spinning around and leaving. Becca twirled
the rose between her fingers and snuck out of the bathroom to the front doors. On
the other side, the doorman stood at his post with his hands clasped behind his
back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She pushed
the door open. “Excuse me, but do you make a habit of letting masked men in
with no questions asked?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The man
stepped back from her outburst. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t know what you’re
talking about.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Of course you don’t. Danny isn’t
stupid enough to walk through the front doors.</span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’m sorry.”
She hurried out to the parking lot and came to a full stop amidst the rows of
cars, holding up the rose. “You don’t scare me,” she shouted and dropped the
flower, crushing it with her shoe and grinding it into the asphalt. “I hope
you’re watching you sick son-of-a-bitch. Hear this! I’m going to find you, and
when I do, you can kiss your sorry ass good-bye!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><b>Adelle Laudan</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="color: #674ea7;"><b>Something for the Rebel in All of Us</b></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://adellelaudan.com/"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><b>Website</b></span></a></span></div>
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<a href="http://adellelaudan.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><b>Blog</b></span></a></div>
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Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-5560118897317276502014-01-08T10:37:00.003+00:002014-01-08T10:37:54.713+00:00Guest blog: Tracey Lampley - 'Kept'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU6Ej4SQDW0iKnkvGYPqkjqQwZnCdaFGumTLhycPp-_JUJSwXew_kJAkWv7eTEdWv6EaEgQQ1m7ZRhr-0hw16qXbAyTaYgVYX1aowNOPppccqH6nzDJ0ZKNk3bPqX-QrvRw_4bLR9wivY/s1600/keptnovella.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU6Ej4SQDW0iKnkvGYPqkjqQwZnCdaFGumTLhycPp-_JUJSwXew_kJAkWv7eTEdWv6EaEgQQ1m7ZRhr-0hw16qXbAyTaYgVYX1aowNOPppccqH6nzDJ0ZKNk3bPqX-QrvRw_4bLR9wivY/s320/keptnovella.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<i>No nonsense Kate Mercer never thought she’d become a kept woman, but when she wants out of the arrangement with Carrington Grant, a powerful man, she finds herself and her unborn child in deadly danger. So Kate flees into arms of Lamar, her ex-lover and an ex NFL linebacker with his own secrets and misgivings. Will Kate lose her life because of her choice? </i><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>Buy at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00H8AIPG6">Amazon</a></i></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Chapter 1</b><br />
<br />
At just after one Friday morning, Katrina “Kate” Mercer wove through the crowd jammed into Skipper’s, an intimate nightclub in the playground of Kingston Park, Ohio. Robin Thicke’s latest track throbbed and echoed all around her, and she swayed to the music. In her early thirties and beautiful, she slapped away a palm that pawed her pair of D-cups. “Watch it,” she warned to a leering, vertically challenged man. As her nostrils took in the air which stank of marijuana, tobacco and sweat, her roving mahogany eyes took in the paint-peeling walls, holding up the drug and drink hazed partiers who looked as if they would drug and drink throughout Saturday morning. She was now trailing a hulking man who had a tattoo of a pair of sensual red lips on the side of his neck. <br />
<br />
“Is C.C. still here, Eight-Ball,” Kate inquired, just loud enough to be heard.<br />
<br />
The man with the red-lip tattoo jerked his head to the left and said, “Yeah, she’s here. She’s with some loser, and she’s in rare form, but she asked for you. Otherwise, I would’ve called your other girl.” The other girl was their friend, Wendy.<br />
<br />
Kate’s eyes swept the direction in which Eight Ball jerked his head, and they rested on her bovine friend. “Booze or weed,” she asked.<br />
<br />
“Booze. It’s the reason I called you. I thought she was back on the wagon. She’s not making sense, and she’s making an ass out of herself.”<br />
<br />
Kate examined her friend and shook her head because C.C. was a mess. She was tossing her tangle of long blond hair back and chuckling as she listened to something her companion whispered in her ear. Kate turned back to Eight-Ball. “Can you help me get her to my car?”<br />
<br />
Eight-Ball’s cobalt eyes raked over Kate’s body then rested on her breasts. “Can I help you get her into the car? Yeah, I’ll help for a price. By the way, I’ve noticed . . . you’re filling out nicely.<br />
<br />
As Eight-Ball undressed her with X-ray eyes, Kate blushed and buttoned her suit jacket. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m serious.”<br />
<br />
He leered at her breasts again. “So am I. I like chocolate. You know?”<br />
<br />
Go screw yourself, she thought before shaking her head and saying, “I’m spoken for.”<br />
<br />
Eight-Ball smirked and said, “That’s not the way I hear it. Your friend C.C.’s dished about you and your girl, Wendy.”<br />
<br />
She bit her lip. C.C. was in need of some Pepto Bismol, because she had a bad case of diarrhea of the mouth, now that she was drunk. Kate held up her iPhone and read her last text message. ‘Mom is missing.’ That was from Jennifer Johnson, the eldest of C.C.’s twins. Cecilia Schmidt Johnson, of German descent, was a forty-two-year-old mother of two who’d recently taken up with a loser named Ralph, an unemployed construction worker, and three days ago C.C. ran off with the loser.<br />
<br />
In about two days, Cecilia Schmidt Johnson will return to<br />
being Cecilia Schmidt.<br />
Which is the reason her twin daughters were worried and why Kate was risking her health in a smoke-filled night club trying to track her friend down and ease the twins’ angst.<br />
<br />
Two years ago, C.C.’s soon-to-be ex-husband, Donald, had caught her having an affair, and he had walked out on her, taking custody of their then fourteen-year-old twins. Her husband, a wealthy physician, did not want his family humiliated by his wife’s affair, especially when C.C. had slept with a prominent member of their social circle. Now Kate had to calm the fears of her friend’s daughters by tracking down her friend.<br />
<br />
“Please find her,” Jennifer Johnson had begged when she and Kate had met up two hours ago.<br />
<br />
And Kate had done just that, tracking C.C. to Skipper’s via cruising every bar in downtown Cincinnati and neighboring Kingston Park. Luckily Eight-Ball had used C.C.’s Blackberry to contact Kate. He’d agreed to meet her at the Skipper’s entrance, and now Eight-Ball was openly requesting a quid pro quo.<br />
<br />
“Whadoyasay?” He smiled, displaying jagged yellow teeth. “How ‘bout we hook up tomorrow?”<br />
<br />
Not a chance, Kate wanted to say. Instead, she stated, “I’ll collect her myself.” She moved past him toward the entrance to the dance floor and stepped onto the packed floor, joining the sweaty writhing bodies now gyrating to the tune of Snoop Dog’s latest track. As she whirled, she noticed C.C. gaping, and she beckoned her over.<br />
<br />
C.C. whispered something in her companion’s ear, disentangled herself then swayed and waddled over to the dance floor. “What’re you doin’ here?” C.C. slurred.<br />
<br />
“I need to talk to you,” Kate yelled over the music. “I’m havin’ a hard time coping with my man.”<br />
<br />
“What’s Carrington into now? Red heads? Brunettes? Another African-American?” She ran her tongue over even top teeth. “Or perhaps he’s finally into his wife again?”<br />
<br />
That stung, and Kate stopped dancing, for her beau, Carrington Grant, was still very married and still very involved with Kate. They had met at her office exactly a year ago, after he’d come in to purchase some insurance. A few well-placed compliments from him and two dinners later, they shared their first kiss, and after one long weekend getaway to Paris, they shared their first bed. Now, one condo later, and Kate was wondering how she would broach the subject of marriage, which she intended to do some seventeen hours from now during their ritual Saturday night dinner.<br />
<br />
She sauntered off the dance floor with C.C. in tow, returning to the table where the companion was scowling. “Gotta help out, Sista Girl,” C.C. said to him.<br />
<br />
Kate hated when C.C. got drunk because her mouth spewed all kinds of unflattering words. She turned her attention to the companion. With gray stubble sprouting on his lips and chin, he leaned forward and slurred, “Whadda you want my woman into?” His left eye was twitching, as he shoved stringy, dishwater blond hair off his forehead.<br />
<br />
Kate sighed and turned to her friend. “Ready to go?”<br />
<br />
C.C. shrugged, leaned in and pecked the man on the cheek. “See ya’, Ralphie.”<br />
<br />
Ralph stood and blocked Kate. “Why don’t you mind yo’ own damn business?” He was up in her face, breathing heavily and reeking of liquor.<br />
<br />
“I’m taking my friend home. Her kids are worried.” Kate side-stepped him, but Ralph remained up in her face.<br />
<br />
“Kate, you could get hurt one of these days interfering with me and C.C.”<br />
<br />
Staring into his slitted eyes, Kate felt a chill travel down her spine. Even nearly drunk, this man was scary-looking, but Kate never let on her feelings. She smiled tightly and said, “Duly noted, Ralph.” She tugged C.C. toward the exit.<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
They ended up at a Waffle House in Glendale, not far from C.C.’s apartment complex. The waitress was filling C.C.’s coffee mug when she announced, “The food’s comin’ right up.”<br />
<br />
Kate took in the smell of bacon and eggs, and her stomach started churning as she placed a hand over her abdomen, sighed and started right in on C.C. “Jennifer and Jamie are quite worried about you, so they called Wendy and me, and we’ve been looking for you ever since. You shouldn’t have put them through all that. It’s wrong and disrespectful.”<br />
<br />
C.C. spread her arms. “Here I am. You found me. They’re a bunch of worry worts.” She took a sip of coffee and sat up straight when the door opened. She cackled as a willowy woman with porcelain skin and spiky auburn hair rolled her eyes and strutted over to the booth. <br />
<br />
“Is she sober, Kate?” Wendy Mason asked. Once a professional model, she once fell in love with but never married the man of her dreams. The torrid affair resulted in an unplanned pregnancy, and it ended after Wendy’s lover took sole custody of their infant son. For the most part, she had adjusted well to the arrangement, except for the occasional forlorn glances at the photo she carried inside the silver locket around her neck. <br />
<br />
“You guys, I sittin’ right here. Don’t talk like I’m not here, Wendy,” C.C. said scowling as she sipped her coffee then screwed up her nose. “I not drunk anymore.”<br />
<br />
“Sure you’re not, sweetie,” Wendy said, turning to Kate and mouthing ‘what the fuck?’<br />
<br />
“She was with Ralph,” Kate said, watching the waitress set a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and wheat toast before them. Bleary-eyed C.C. just ogled the food, so Kate grabbed a fork and began shoveling eggs into C.C.’s mouth. The scent of the breakfast wafted to Kate’s nostrils, overwhelming her, causing the bile to rise in her throat, so she bolted from the table holding a hand over her mouth, burst inside the bathroom and vomited into the toilet.<br />
<br />
As she stood over the sink, she gazed into the mirror at her puffy eyes and noticed her cheeks were filling out. Worst of all, her boobs were straining the fabric of her midnight-blue suit. Would Carrington still think her beautiful? She placed a hand over her fluttering belly. “Oh, baby. Why’re you doing this to me?” She splashed some water over her face and rinsed her mouth.<br />
<br />
When a pale faced Kate returned to her friends, C.C.’s head was on the table and Wendy was gaping. “What?” Kate snapped, not really meaning to do so.<br />
<br />
Wendy ran her fingers through her short, spiked auburn hair and said matter-of-factly, “You’re pregnant.”<br />
<br />
C.C.’s head popped up. “Wh-what? You? Oh no,” she groaned. “W-Wendeee, tell Kate why dat’s not a g-good idea.”<br />
<br />
Burning with indignation, Kate slid into the booth, sitting beside C.C. “What’re you talking about, C.C.?”<br />
<br />
“Ahm talkin’ ‘bout Cary Grant. Not junior, but senior. The rich asshole you’re screwin’.”<br />
<br />
Kate self-consciously scanned the restaurant and decided no one was paying attention. She leaned into C.C. and whispered, “Will you keep your voice down?”<br />
<br />
C.C. giggled and asked, “Scared the missus is spyin’ on you?”<br />
<br />
“If she is spyin’, one of my best friends is certainly supplying ammo. You’re sloppy drunk and need to sleep it off. Let’s get you home.”<br />
<br />
C.C. shook her head and hiccupped. “N-not ‘til I tell you why havin’ Cary Grant’s baby is a bad idea. Ya’ see: he discards his women after he finishes with them. Doesn’t he, Wendy?” She peered at Wendy. “He’ll never leave Elizabeth.” C.C. tossed her head back and cackled. It was a stab right through the heart and not what Kate wanted to hear.<br />
<br />
“Shut up, C.C.,” Wendy snapped.<br />
<br />
“I don’t have to shut up. You know: I wrote about you both. My manuscript will sell millions. It’s about a rich asshole and his harem.”<br />
<br />
Wendy rolled her eyes. “She needs more coffee.”<br />
<br />
C.C. needed more than just coffee. She needed a butt kicking. Kate sighed. She’d had enough. Addressing Wendy, Kate asked, “Can you get her home? I’m beat.” After Wendy nodded, Kate exited Waffle House, started up her sleek silver BMW and screeched out of the parking lot. She was halfway down the block when she glimpsed a sedan pulling out of the Waffle House parking lot too. Good, Wendy had coaxed C.C. out of there.<br />
<br />
Kate entered I75 and drove south. Fifteen minutes later she pulled into the garage at Roosevelt Place, a building of luxury condos in downtown Cincinnati. She’d bought the unit five days ago. It was a splendid two-bedroom with a spectacular view of the river and Paul Brown stadium. Kate was both pleased and perturbed that the previous owner, a corporate attorney in his late thirties, had been forced to sell it at a bargain price after losing his job. Of course, she hadn’t told her lover, Carrington Grant, that she had been condo-shopping. He would wonder where she got the money. Could she possibly tell Carrington that she’d sold half of the jewelry he’d given her and come up with half the price of the condo? She dared not sell the BMW he’d gifted her on her thirty-first birthday, even though Kate thought it too ostentatious.<br />
<br />
She got out of her car and headed for the garage elevator. As footsteps were echoing behind her, she glanced over her shoulder and saw a figure she couldn’t quite make out. She flashed back to the memory of a sedan following her from Waffle House’s parking lot, and a terrible foreboding overcame her. That wasn’t Wendy and C.C. following her out of Wafflehouse. Fingers of fear gripped her as the unreasonable suspicion that someone else had followed her threatened to overwhelm her. With her heart hammering in her chest, Kate bolted inside the open elevator car and stabbed the button for the eighth floor. She could hear the rush of footsteps bearing down on her causing her heart to almost erupt from her chest. Jabbing at the button, she screamed, “Come on!”<br />
<br />Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-12279636442311566812013-11-01T10:54:00.001+00:002013-11-01T10:54:05.457+00:00Book Bargains for November and Black Friday Do you love a bargain? So do I! Here are my book bargains for November and Black Friday. Happy Shopping!<br />
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If you enjoy <b>contemporary stories and romance</b>, please consider my <b>Romantic Thrillers</b>. These are big novels, (over 300 pages) <b>in the tradition of Mary Stewart</b>, with multiple viewpoints and sweeping stories. You can pick up them for the bargain price of <b style="background-color: white;">$1</b><span style="background-color: white;">.</span><b>99 each (or £1.27)</b><br />
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<b>"<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/100202">Voices in the Dark</a>"</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
There has always been a mystery in Julia Rochfort's family. Who killed her grandfather Guy, a member of the Italian resistance movement in World War Two? When Julia travels to Florence to compete in a singing competition, she meets Roberto Padovano, already an established opera star, and they discover that they have a lot more in common than simple attraction.<br />
<br />
<b>From </b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Voices-in-the-Dark-ebook/dp/B0061BTEHW/">Amazon US</a><br />
<b>From </b><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Voices-in-the-Dark-ebook/dp/B0061BTEHW/">Amazon UK</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcMHX3LdIeKMcYqneLKI7nu8lut19xF6W-ucL8U-mpY-FDQqXfAG6vaUMLhJTyhFgjrxblq39Y3EH7ZC9wNu9HR1zzxb_8hk0djz-6DcPeguuEY-C4XGnTnXX_U0GWOTxV7S6S-Yuu-i7X/s1600/NightStormlarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcMHX3LdIeKMcYqneLKI7nu8lut19xF6W-ucL8U-mpY-FDQqXfAG6vaUMLhJTyhFgjrxblq39Y3EH7ZC9wNu9HR1zzxb_8hk0djz-6DcPeguuEY-C4XGnTnXX_U0GWOTxV7S6S-Yuu-i7X/s200/NightStormlarge.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<b>"<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/46046">Night of the Storm</a>" </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
When Melissa, a wildlife photographer, goes to the unspoilt Greek island of Asteri to investigate the death of her lover Andrew, she discovers a deadly wildlife smuggling conspiracy. Suddenly on the beautiful island romance mingles with fear. </div>
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<b>From </b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Night-of-the-Storm-ebook/dp/B0061BTBOS/">Amazon US</a><br />
<b>From </b> <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Night-of-the-Storm-ebook/dp/B0061BTBOS/">Amazon UK</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrG34Bn6ZIkhPWTqX2HVKakWJOFa89ZgZAe8AoMIeWLXlghm2FGmArTVMmgjAL6jvJg_3kPmfy4b55-iY4DxwUUBzWXm0zUBDZE-P8IfQ1bniOn0fXjy0pqPG_C8RsAPc-Oz2ym8_bpGVL/s1600/Englishdaughtercover1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrG34Bn6ZIkhPWTqX2HVKakWJOFa89ZgZAe8AoMIeWLXlghm2FGmArTVMmgjAL6jvJg_3kPmfy4b55-iY4DxwUUBzWXm0zUBDZE-P8IfQ1bniOn0fXjy0pqPG_C8RsAPc-Oz2ym8_bpGVL/s200/Englishdaughtercover1a.jpg" width="132" /></a>"<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/165638"><b>The English Daughter</b></a>"<br />
<br />
Young widow Val Baker restores musical instruments, but fears her relationship with her Greek-Italian family on Corfu is broken beyond repair.<br />
<br />
Returning to the island to work on a rare piano belonging to her Greek friend Alexia, she finds her dreams haunted by memories of Hilary; a young English girl raped and murdered ten years before. Val determines to uncover the truth about the case, and set to rest her own doubts about the involvement of her father, Yiannis, and half-brother, Markos, both policemen who were involved in the original investigation.<br />
<br />
Joined by her friend Harry, Val begins to unravel the threads. When two strange tokens arrive, one for Alexia's daughter Chloe and one for Val, it becomes clear that Hilary's unknown killer is on Val's trail. Her search for the truth becomes a race for life.<br />
<br />
<b>From</b> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-English-Daughter-ebook/dp/B008ABCSS8/">Amazon US</a><br />
<b>From </b><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-English-Daughter-ebook/dp/B008ABCSS8/">Amazon UK</a></div>
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<br />
If you enjoy<br />
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<b>Historical Romance</b><br />
<br />
(and who doesn't)...<br />
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please consider some<br />
of my other<br />
<b>Romance bargains</b>:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8vioIv-iss4KG8NioBmupejtuTVZYBoj8QU1kN7aF1l-4UF_Zh2hRg3Mlgh2lX0-PnMlbzQuRB7v1mXnPhma7rBDRtD40IdBHdgJWC44lKYhSsIQ3Ehx_jYRxpcBXPtIb0Z_39CWTFc4/s1600/MistressAngel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8vioIv-iss4KG8NioBmupejtuTVZYBoj8QU1kN7aF1l-4UF_Zh2hRg3Mlgh2lX0-PnMlbzQuRB7v1mXnPhma7rBDRtD40IdBHdgJWC44lKYhSsIQ3Ehx_jYRxpcBXPtIb0Z_39CWTFc4/s200/MistressAngel.jpg" width="133" /></a><b>"Mistress Angel." Only 99 Cents! 77p!</b><br />
<b><br /></b><b><i>To save her son she must risk losing the love of her life.</i></b></div>
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“Mistress Angel” is a medieval historical romance novella of 28,000 words. It is a sweet to sensual romance story, set in a time when women had little power and fewer choices.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Once a child-bride, intended to stop a blood-feud between rich and ambitious families in fourteenth century London, Isabella is now a young widow, a medieval Cinderella, tormented and blamed. Seeking always to escape her grim destiny, she can just endure it but when her beloved son Matthew is torn away from her care, spirited somewhere into the country by her malicious in-laws, Isabella is desperate. To save her son she will do anything, risk anything. Even if it means she must lose the love of her life, the handsome, brave armorer Stephen Fletcher, who catches her when she falls from a golden cage and who calls her his Mistress Angel.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>Mistress Angel</i> is a KDP Select title at $0.99 and £0.77</b></div>
<b><br /></b><b>Buy now at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mistress-Angel-ebook/dp/B00F43NNKW/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1378907415&sr=1-1&keywords=B00F43NNKW">Amazon.com</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Mistress-Angel-ebook/dp/B00F43NNKW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1378907643&sr=8-1&keywords=B00F43NNKW">Amazon.co.uk</a>.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF049Hj_IIju78GzFWgENKVmCrSfvsnr-Jut3oCS4J3za4b_m7ZygNrLx5NQJF0bKcYTD-Ra6dlUNpOy0k6HL1nnMzUTRwYhGKu3kA_sz-C3jwnXzc4WPKgFVhsqTXDfBRMsO6Zc3Tgpen/s1600/lt-fs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF049Hj_IIju78GzFWgENKVmCrSfvsnr-Jut3oCS4J3za4b_m7ZygNrLx5NQJF0bKcYTD-Ra6dlUNpOy0k6HL1nnMzUTRwYhGKu3kA_sz-C3jwnXzc4WPKgFVhsqTXDfBRMsO6Zc3Tgpen/s200/lt-fs.jpg" width="132" /></a><b>"Flavia's Secret." $0.99 from <a href="http://www.bookstrand.com/flavias-secret">Bookstrand. </a> A full length novel of 83,000 words for just 99 Cents!</b><br />
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<b><i>How Far Dare You Trust Your Lover? Especially When He is Also Your Master? </i></b><br />
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"<b>Flavia's Secret</b>" is a historical romance novel of 83,000 words. It's a sensual historical romance set in Roman Britain.<br />
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Spirited young scribe Flavia hopes for freedom. She and her fellow slaves in Aquae Sulis (modern Bath) have served the Lady Valeria for many years, but their mistress' death brings a threat to Flavia's dream: her new master Marcus Brucetus, a charismatic, widowed officer toughened in the forests of Germania. Flavia finds him overwhelmingly attractive but she is aware of the danger. To save her life and those of her 'family' she has forged a note from her mistress. If her deception is discovered, all the slaves may die.<br />
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For his part torn between attraction and respect, Marcus will not force himself on Flavia. Flavia by now knows of his grief over the deaths of his wife Drusilla and child. But how can she match up to the serene, flame-haired Drusilla?<br />
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As the wild mid-winter festival of Saturnalia approaches, many lives will be changed forever.<br />
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Also from <a href="http://www.bookstrand.com/a-knights-vow"><b>Bookstrand</b></a>, you can buy my <b>historical romantic suspense</b> "<a href="http://www.bookstrand.com/a-secret-treasure">A Secret Treasure</a>" for <b>half-price</b>.<br />
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[BookStrand Historical Romantic Suspense]<br />
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The Greek island of Rhodes: luxurious and hot, beloved haunt of the Sun God, steeped in the mysteries of the past. In the late 1930s during the gathering storm-clouds of war, it is a dangerous place to fall in love.<br />
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When pretty, passionate Eve Burnett meets the darkly intriguing Julio Falcone, she is torn. As a man, Julio is powerfully attractive. As a policeman, he is bound to be a Fascist. Her brother, David, who is missing, is connected to the Greek Partisans who wish to liberate Rhodes from their Italian overlords.<br />
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Now, as David appears at their parents' house soon after Julio makes Eve's acquaintance, Eve is compelled to hide her brother and a mysterious gold statuette. The Fascists are looking for him and this secret treasure. Soon, Eve realizes that she may be forced to choose between the man she loves and the ultimate safety of her family.<br />
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A BookStrand Mainstream Romance<br />
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<b>Retro Release Special Discount: This title is offered at a 50% discount. Offer ends midnight CST, November 21st.</b><br />
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Also my <b>medieval historical romance</b><a href="http://www.bookstrand.com/a-knights-vow"> "<b>A Knight's Vow</b></a>" for just <b>$2.99</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20CJixIL-V9TyvqXxzbOCEqP8HLiT5ds9AeyGtze9DIFWcTWQieSMJLVIKfOF47iJa18JeYob2Ika_lWXI8Y7pKYG0qrwVuPg-rzxS51E9YVI38sL37NHqWHUose8be0dQuC1KV893Jsh/s1600/41e83YxqzBL__SS500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20CJixIL-V9TyvqXxzbOCEqP8HLiT5ds9AeyGtze9DIFWcTWQieSMJLVIKfOF47iJa18JeYob2Ika_lWXI8Y7pKYG0qrwVuPg-rzxS51E9YVI38sL37NHqWHUose8be0dQuC1KV893Jsh/s200/41e83YxqzBL__SS500_.jpg" width="123" /></a></div>
<b>He promises undying love...</b><br />
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<b>England, 1138. </b>Set against the dangerous backdrop of the crusades, this sweeping romance captures the story of a beautiful, young woman and the dashing knight who will battle his fiercest enemies to win her undying love....<br />
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You can read more, including reviews and an excerpt,<a href="http://www.lindsaytownsend.net/2008/04/knights-vow.html"> here</a><br />
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<i>Happy Reading!</i></div>
Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-9945900455615870232013-07-18T08:00:00.000+01:002013-07-18T08:00:11.699+01:00Guest Blog: Mickie Sherwood - 'Like Slow Sweet Molasses'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Blurb:</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Teacher Angela Munso has
lost control—of her spiraling life. She can control the fallout of recent news
from whose loins she sprang as easily as she can her heart’s pitter-patter. To
have feelings for a man who is everything she <i>now</i> wants to hate? That’s the last straw! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lt. Brock "Chance"
Alexander’s arrogance baits Angela. And—he knows it. It’s never so obvious to
him as when she lobs that insulting phrase at the side of his head. She pushes
all of his hot buttons. But, there’s one he dares her to touch—the one that
pushes him out of her life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Excerpt:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Angela
enjoyed the refreshing taste of her favorite cherry flavored ICEE on the walk
home from the corner store several blocks away. Secretly keeping tabs on
Chance’s motorcycle, relief flooded her being when she peeked and it no longer
took up space at the curb. The absence was enough incentive for her to treat
herself and get out of the house for a walk to boot mainly in an effort not to
dwell on the difficulty encountered when practicing her viola. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Her
thong sandals gritted on the sandy concrete broadcasting her position to all
within hearing distance. The empty street was hers alone. The sky shed its
grayness as daylight waned; coloring the atmospheric canvas a sea-blue
sprinkled with floating cotton, sun-kissed and striped a feathery red.
Marveling at the beauty, she sipped her drink, taking her sweet time in
climbing the stone steps to her yard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“How
are you this evening, Angela?” Mrs. Thatcher called. She and Chance sat
comfortably in the swing, keeping a constant back and forth motion, satiated
after their light supper. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Initially
unaware of their presence, she was startled to learn of her mistake. She wasn’t
alone after all. “Fine, thank you, Mrs. Thatcher,” she lied. “And you?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Muddling
along for an old lady.” Chastising her relative, “Don’t be so impolite, Brock.
Speak.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Miss
Munso.” His mind drifted to the music he heard coming from her upstairs window,
a hauntingly melodious tune she had difficulty completing—pausing at the same
spot after each try. Not to be outdone, he assumed, she finished the song by
singing the notes in melodic crystal clarity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Lt.
Alexander.” Angela decided to make her exit calling over her shoulder as she
advanced on the door. “See you later, Mrs.—” The remaining words dwindled to a
gurgle and the cup fell in slow motion from her hand. A smoky cheroot scent
assailed her olfactory senses in competition with her sense of hearing just as
one foot crossed the threshold. Alarm painted her features as she spun to look
dead at Chance, eyes silently screaming for help. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
fine hairs on his arms snapped to attention across the distance launching his
ascent from the swing like a rocket booster, landing him beside her in a flash.
“What is it?” He heard it, too, while she backed away. Someone moved inside her
home. “Were you expecting company?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">All
she managed was a negative headshake. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
exchange of places allowed him to feel the delicate bones in her soft hands.
“Stay out here. I’ll come for you once I’ve cleared the house.” She looked
panicked. “Understood?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She
silently nodded her assent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She
watched him cautiously enter on cat’s feet, his expertise in such matters
clearly exhibited. Now and again, she caught a hint of his movement as he
materialized from one room to disappear into the next. How fickle could she be to
put his life in jeopardy when she scorned him previously? Angela’s conscience
whipped up on her. So much so that she tiptoed up the stairs behind him,
against his express wishes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
bottom floor proved empty sending him up to the next level, senses attuned and
gun drawn. He whirled after hearing the slightest movement, leveling the weapon
stiff armed and double-fisted. She gasped. Chance rapidly raised the barrel to
the ceiling. He noted how in her flustered state she crashed backwards, bumping
her head on the descent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Ow-w-w,”
she groaned, vaguely aware of the swaying meadow grasses enveloping her before
the light receded and he completely disappeared. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Cra-ap!”
That was as close to an expletive Chance could come to since turning over his
new leaf. He knew the culprit had escaped through the door to the rear of the
house for it was wide open. Yet, it was a precautionary measure to do a check
of the upstairs, just in case. “Angela? Can you hear me?” Thumbing the safety
and holstering his gun, Chance huddled over her on all fours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: blue; font-family: Pristina; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">How emboldened would you be to a
man with a badge...and a gun?</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New";">My novels are</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> available
at: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.allromanceebooks.com/storeSearch.html?searchBy=author&qString=Mickie+Sherwood"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Allromanceebooks</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">
| </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mickie-Sherwood/e/B003M0W8SM"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Amazon</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">
| </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/mickie-sherwood?keyword=mickie+sherwood&store=ebook"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">B&N</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">| </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/index.php?main_page=advanced_search_result&search_in_description=1&keyword=mickie+Sherwood&x=57&y=12"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Coffeetimeromance</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: blue; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: blue; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">| </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.bookstrand.com/mickie-sherwood"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bookstrand</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: blue; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> | </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://redrosepublishing.com/books/index.php?manufacturers_id=255"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Redrosepublishing</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: blue; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bio:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: blue; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I'm a cruise-loving, people-watching,
picture-snapping baby boomer with time on her hands. So, I write sweet and
spicy relationship-based mainstream contemporary romantic love stories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Read bonus
chapters 1, 2, & 3 </span></b><span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://mickiesherwood.com/blog/2013/02/09/premiere-like-slow-sweet-molasses/"><b><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">here</span></b></a></span><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Find me:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.mickiesherwood.com/"><span style="font-family: Pristina;">www.mickiesherwood.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.mickiesherwood.com/blog"><span style="font-family: Pristina;">www.mickiesherwood.com/blog</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.twitter.com/MickieSherwood"><span style="font-family: Pristina;">www.twitter.com/MickieSherwood</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.blurbsinbloom.com/"><span style="font-family: Pristina;">www.blurbsinbloom.com</span></a> Open for
submissions<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.twitter.com/BlurbsinBloom"><span style="font-family: Pristina;">www.twitter.com/BlurbsinBloom</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Pristina;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/MickieSherwood"><span style="font-family: Pristina;">www.pinterest.com/MickieSherwood</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Thanks,
Lindsay, for allowing me to share with your visitors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 20.0pt;">Mickie Sherwood<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="background: yellow; color: #ff33cc; font-family: Pristina; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-highlight: yellow;">~~Sweet,
spicy romance – a heartbeat away!~~</span></b></div>
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Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-6997738040828724152013-07-03T08:00:00.000+01:002013-07-03T08:00:13.925+01:00Guest blog: Melanie Shawn's Crossroads Series<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>What Makes Being At A Crossroads In Life Such a Compelling
Theme?</b></span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The writing team of
sisters Melanie and Shawna discuss why they chose the theme of “Big Life
Choices” for their Crossroads Series.</span></i><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Robert Frost, in his
immortal poem, describes one of the biggest conundrums in life.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">“</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Two roads
diverged in a yellow wood, <br />
And sorry I could not travel both <br />
And be one traveler, long I stood.”</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">There is something so
gut-wrenching about facing a metaphorical fork in the road. You can only go one
way, and the what the rest of your life will look like is based on that one
monumental decision.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Of course, people
face these crossroads in life every day. They decide whether to enter or leave
relationships, they decide what job to take and what job to pass on, they
decide whether to move across the country or not. They decide whether the time
is right to start a family.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It's not the rarity
of the experience that makes the facing a crossroads so compelling, it's the
struggle. We all do it. We go back and forth mentally, we try to see down the
divergent paths to envision what our lives would be like under each of the two
sets of circumstances we are choosing between, even though we know that's
folly! There's no way for us to predict the outcome.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The truth is, the
only way to make a big “crossroads” kind of decision is to follow your heart. You
have to ignore the clenching in your gut, the uncertainty, the little voice in
your head that says you aren't good enough, and just...leap. You have to take a
giant leap of faith.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Decisions. Choices.
Crossroads.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We knew immediately
when the concept occurred to us that it simply had to be the theme of our
second series of novels. There is such a great arc, and there is so much rich
emotional material for mining, in a situation where one or both of the
characters have to dig deep, determine what is right for them, and then take a
huge leap of faith.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Of course, since
we're romance writers, we know that leap will pay off for them. They will take
that scary jump only to land in their lover's arms and find out that they were
launching themselves right into their own HEA all along.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">But the “good stuff”
is in how they manage to get to the point where they feel ready to jump!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Bio:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Melanie Shawn is the writing team of sister duo Melanie and Shawna. Originally from Northern California, they both migrated south and now call So Cal their home. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br />Growing up, Melanie constantly had her head in a book and was always working on short stories, manuscripts, plays and poetry. After graduating magna cum laude from Pepperdine University, she went on to teach grades 2nd through 8th for five years. She now spends her days writing and taking care of her furry baby, a Lhasa Apso named Hercules. In her free time, her favorite activity is to curl up on the couch with that stubborn, funny mutt and binge-watch cable TV shows on DVD (preferably of at least eight seasons in length - a girl's gotta have her standards!). </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Shawna always loved romance in any form - movie, song or literary. If it was a love story with a happy ending, Shawna was all about it! She proudly acknowledges that she is a romanceaholic. Her days are jam-packed with writing, being a wife, mom aka referee of two teens, and indulging in her second passion (dance!) as a Zumba instructor. In the little free time she has, she joins Melanie in marathon-watching DVDs of their favorite TV programs.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br />They have joined forces to create a world where True Love and Happily Ever After always has a Sexy Twist! </span><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></b></i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Book
Description:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Jason Sloan is known as Harper’s Crossing’s resident Romeo, and
he’s never had to work too hard to live up to that nickname. With his easygoing
charm, whiskey-colored brown eyes, and sinfully sexy half smile, women just
seem to fall all over themselves when he’s around.<br />
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Well...most women, anyway. Katie Lawson’s the one woman who isn't putty in his
hands, and she's the only one he’s ever wanted in his arms.<br />
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Katie Lawson left Harper's Crossing in the middle of the night ten years ago,
immediately after her high school boyfriend Nick's funeral. She left behind all
memories of Nick, and she left behind her life-long best friend, Jason Sloan.<br />
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Now she's on the fast track to junior partner at one of San Francisco's top law
firms. She's made a life for herself that's all about maintaining order and
sticking to the rules. Rule #1 is keeping herself WAY too busy to think about
all that she ran away from. If she can do that, after all, she can keep
everything under control.<br />
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But that rule is about to be broken. She’s headed back home to be the maid of
honor in Nick’s little sister’s wedding. It's time to face the truth she's been
avoiding all these years, the same one that sent her running ten years ago -
that maybe she didn't lose her first love the summer after high school. Maybe
her first love has been waiting for her all this time, at home in Harper's
Crossing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Excerpt:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Katie opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came
out. She snapped it shut. She tried again. Same result. She imagined she looked
like a trout on the banks of a river, flapping her mouth open and shut for no
apparent reason.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">The realization of how silly she must look gave
her just the extra edge of courage she needed to jump off the cliff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">“Jason, I...I wanted to...I wanted to tell you
that...” she steeled herself for what she knew her physical reaction would be
as she forced herself to look up into those gorgeous brown eyes, which
resembled nothing so much as pools of warm and melty milk chocolate...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">The expression on Jason's face when she raised her
eyes brought her up short. She narrowed her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">“Why do you look so smug?” she asked suspiciously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Rather than answering, he smirked and bent down,
putting his mouth right next to her ear. His hot breath assailed her neck and
she began to feel light-headed again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Wait...was this....OH NO! Panic attack #2 might be
on the horizon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Not in front of Jason, PLEASE, not in front of
Jason, Katie begged the Universe. It
seemed like the Universe must have more important things on its mind, however
because - oh, lord. Now the shallow breathing was starting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Jason's breath on her neck, however, was anything
but shallow. It was deep. And heavy. And warm. And full of desire. And...oh,
man, that lightheadedness was just getting worse and worse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Jason had her pinned up against the trunk of her
car. Her mind was screaming at her to push him away and RUN as fast and as far
as she could. Hey, it had worked in the past. Her body, however, was sending
her some very different signals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">“I'm not smug, Kit Kat,” Jason informed her, his
deep voice rumbling in his chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">“Wha...huh...?” Katie mumbled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Jason laughed lightly, “I was just saying that I'm
not smug. Just happy to know that I still get under your skin.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Katie didn't respond. She didn't even really hear
what he said, she'd stopped trying to pay attention to the words. Stupid words.
They just got in the way of listening to his voice...that silky, deep voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Jason traced his thumb down the back of Katie's
neck slowly, sensuously, and then continued across her shoulder and down her
arm. When he reached her waist, he slipped his hand around her easily,
spreading his fingers slowly and firmly, grasping her back with a familiarity
that felt as dangerous as it did comforting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">His thumb began to gently massage the small of her
back, sending sharp zings of electricity ping-ponging off of her nerve endings.
She wanted to stop those little zings of pleasure in their tracks. She wanted
to ignore, suppress, deny...anything!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">She needed to push him away and get some distance
is what she needed to do. Her knees began to buckle. Any time now, a little
voice in the back of her head whispered. Any time you want to get a jump on
creating that distance would be perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">That was, however, not what Katie did. No matter
how hard her lizard brain screamed at her to push him away...step away...jump
away...DANCE away, even...all Katie found herself doing was looking up into his
chocolate brown eyes as she melted into his embrace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Katie heard a low moan escape from Jason's throat
and was suddenly hyper-aware of how close their lips were to each other. A
shiver ran through her as she contemplated the nearness of those delicious,
sexy lips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Katie's breathing became more labored, but not in
an out-of-control, panic-attacky kind of way. No, it was more of a
body-coming-alive-for-the-first-time-in-years kind of way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">She vaguely wondered what was going to happen
next, but couldn't make herself focus too much on the future. Not when the
present was this flipping interesting!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Her brain might be telling her to get out of this
situation, to think about the consequences – but her body was perfectly content
to ride this little scene out and see where it went thankyouverymuch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Why did it seem that she was utterly incapable of
listening to her brain in any situation where Jason Sloan was involved?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;"><b>Buy Links:</b></span></div>
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<span class="usercontent2"><span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Amazon</span></span><span class="usercontent2"><span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; mso-ansi-language: EN;">: <a href="http://bit.ly/myfirstamazon" target="_blank">http://bit.ly/myfirstamazon</a></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br />
</span><span class="usercontent2"><span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">B&N:</span></span><span class="usercontent2"><span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> <a href="http://bit.ly/myfirstbarnes" target="_blank">http://bit.ly/myfirstbarnes</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="usercontent2"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Website: <a href="http://melanieshawn.com/">http://melanieshawn.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="usercontent2"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/melanieshawnbooks">https://www.facebook.com/melanieshawnbooks</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="usercontent2"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/MelanieShawn">https://twitter.com/MelanieShawn</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="usercontent2"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Youtube: </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mka92etUNsE" target="_blank">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mka92etUNsE</a></span></div>
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Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-47987540269200350772013-07-01T11:20:00.000+01:002013-07-01T11:20:44.095+01:00Guest blog: Pat McDermott - 'The Rosewood Whistle'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGELjNkPRjYySFd_yStkO2GS-ULCkgECM1zXT8wJ4-tIsnCILHQ0cIEzpfF4DgDkS5TyqDNB4nhgyhW03oSBmhC3JdBtL2f4hqu1gWaWCmvYmyxtSvDOgughY08crzxtIjJXLtgGoeSRE/s300/rosewood-whistle-200x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGELjNkPRjYySFd_yStkO2GS-ULCkgECM1zXT8wJ4-tIsnCILHQ0cIEzpfF4DgDkS5TyqDNB4nhgyhW03oSBmhC3JdBtL2f4hqu1gWaWCmvYmyxtSvDOgughY08crzxtIjJXLtgGoeSRE/s300/rosewood-whistle-200x300.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Surrounded by Ireland’s music and myths, a widowed
American writer meets a tour guide leery of love…</span></i></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">On her own at the end of a long and difficult
marriage, Gemma Pentrandolfo still hears the critical voice of her husband
taunting her from his grave. To foster her independence, she schedules a summer
vacation in County Mayo intending to write her first book, and she’s counting
on Ireland for inspiration. An idea presents itself when she tours Achill
Island with a silver-tongued tour guide whose good looks prompt her to write
more than her high-minded novel: she transcribes her years of longing in a
steamy fantasy no one is meant to see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Years have passed since an accident claimed the
self-absorbed wife who scorned Ben Connigan and his music. Since then, the
former tin whistle ace has avoided marriage, though he never lacked for female
companionship before he traded his high-tech career for the slow-paced life of
a hometown tour guide. Ben has accepted the end of his run of discreet affairs,
until he takes Gemma touring. Her passion for Ireland impresses him. Her love
of Irish music soon compels him to dust off his whistles. Knowing she’ll leave
at the end of the summer, he sees no harm in keeping her company—until he dares
to dream of spending the rest of his life with her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">But he knows it can’t be, not while the ghosts of
their partners still haunt them. Not unless the music and myths of Ireland can
help them find their way…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Excerpt:<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">(Ben is driving Gemma to Achill Island for a tour. He’s
allayed her concerns that this might be a date by saying that between her
forty-eight years and his fifty-two, they have a hundred years of living
between them, experiences they might share now and then. In this scene, they’ve
stopped at the beach in Mulranny so Gemma can photograph Clew Bay.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">He stayed near the car while she shot her pictures,
scampering over rocks and grass still damp from the recent shower. But for an
older couple rambling along the tidemark, she had the beach to herself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Cottony fair weather clouds tumbled in from the sea.
Knowing how fast they could blacken, he monitored their approach as he breathed
in the salt air and watched little waves wash over the sand. He never grew
tired of viewing the islands that peppered Clew Bay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">He doubted he’d ever grow tired of watching Gemma
either. The thought surprised him. Hadn’t he put her down as a summer fling?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">She returned to the car, the wind whipping her hair
over her reddened cheeks. He thought he’d never seen such a beautiful smile.
And wasn’t she the thoughtful girl, giving him an excuse to visit some of his
favorite scenery?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“This really is gorgeous,” she said. “So salty and
clean. I love how the clouds roll like smoke from a wildfire, and I could
listen to those waves forever.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“They say it takes three days for a wave to reach
Ireland from Nova Scotia. Look.” He pointed to the sky, where a shimmering
rainbow arced over the bay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">She raised her camera, but the rainbow had already
faded. “I’m adding that to my list.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“What list?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“My list of why I like it here. The music. Bright
summer nights. Good tea. Fish and chips. Castles. And most definitely,
rainbows.” She smiled slyly at him. “I’m sure I’ll have more to add by the end
of the summer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Was she inviting him to add an item or two to her
list? Considering the possibilities, he opened the passenger door for her. She
paused to wipe the soles of her shoes on the grass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A thoughtful girl indeed.</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> As he reclaimed the driver’s seat, he started his own
list about Gemma Keenan. “Nothing for the ‘Why I hate it here’ side of the
list?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">She wriggled out of her jacket and combed her fingers
through her hair. “Not yet. Even the weather’s been great.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">He tossed their jackets over the seat. His hand grazed
her arm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Her gaze locked on his. “A hundred years, Ben. That’s
a long time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">After a prudent but powerful pause, he bent his head
and kissed her. No hands, no arms, no more than two pairs of lips brushing
once.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Then twice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The third time, she kissed him back before
breathlessly turning her head away. The color the wind had put in her cheeks
had deepened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Ben didn’t trust himself to speak. He felt
spring-loaded, a little drunk, a lot in one hell of a heat. How had a few
superficial kisses set his heart beating double time?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Author Bio</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Boston, Massachusetts native Pat McDermott writes
romantic action/adventure stories set in an Ireland that might have been. <i>Glancing
Through the Glimmer</i> and its sequel, <i>Autumn Glimmer</i>, are young adult
paranormal adventures featuring Ireland’s mischievous fairies. Both books are “prequels”
to her popular Band of Roses Trilogy: <i>A Band of Roses</i>, <i>Fiery Roses</i>,
and <i>Salty Roses</i>. <i>The Rosewood Whistle</i> is her first contemporary
romance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pat is a member of the New Hampshire Writers’ Project,
Romance Writers of America, and Celtic Hearts Romance Writers. Her favorite
non-writing activities include cooking, hiking, reading, and traveling,
especially to Ireland. She lives and writes in New Hampshire, USA.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<h3 id="yui_3_7_2_1_1372613171158_2795">
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<h3 id="yui_3_7_2_1_1372613171158_2795">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pat McDermott</span></span></b></h3>
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<b id="yui_3_7_2_1_1372613171158_2800"><i id="yui_3_7_2_1_1372613171158_2799"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1372613171158_2798" style="color: #007f7f; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Romantic Adventure Set in Ireland</span></i></b><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: #007f7f; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: #0066cc;"><a href="http://www.patmcdermott.net/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">www.patmcdermott.net</a></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #007f7f; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
Lindsay Townsendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513558547686982857noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4076404775832217681.post-14020223248254900242013-06-29T09:45:00.000+01:002013-06-29T09:45:41.549+01:00Guest blog: Antje Hergt - 'Darinel: Dragon Hunter'<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-nE1Dy0eRMkGc67UmV0NvewbK48vJ-VkrHMXLtA6BHh4vdQ9aCXrwd9ZLU66uNaCVElle1BB8nDCUbfB6cP-xCPU67sYUAi-akMQPz2fINCP6O7Derwr2cQ-wW5iwmZBAhEBnoqu-0yc/s1600/DarinelDragonhunter_200x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-nE1Dy0eRMkGc67UmV0NvewbK48vJ-VkrHMXLtA6BHh4vdQ9aCXrwd9ZLU66uNaCVElle1BB8nDCUbfB6cP-xCPU67sYUAi-akMQPz2fINCP6O7Derwr2cQ-wW5iwmZBAhEBnoqu-0yc/s320/DarinelDragonhunter_200x300.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<i style="text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Prince Darinel is traveling–for what feels like
forever. Expelled from his father’s kingdom, he just wants to find a new home.
When a shadow lures him to a wealthy kingdom, he stays to discover more about
the darkness, but the citizens are tight-lipped.</span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<i><span lang="EN-US">Their king
welcomes the foreign Prince hoping that he will solve his two problems: the
dragon and his strong-willed daughter. Coming from a warrior kingdom, Darinel
despises violence, but charmed by Princess Tuskja’s dare, he sets out to
confront the beast. Instead of finding a fierce dragon, he finds a friend. The
dragon’s malicious humor and his love of fairy tales entangle Darinel in a
summer of adventures, while </span></i><i><span lang="EN-US">danger
stirs in the East, the Dark Prince. Being refused by the Princess and
humiliated by the dragon, this proud prince seeks revenge.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<i><span lang="EN-US">In
compliance with the king’s decree, Darinel is torn between his friendship with
the dragon and his love for Princess Tuskja, whom he can only marry if he kills
his friend. Before he can make a decision, the kingdom is under attack. Now it
is up to the dragon to either help his friend or respect his wish to not
interfere.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span lang="EN-US">Excerpt:<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“A very human
viewpoint,” the voice agreed. “But it brings so much trouble.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Exactly. I just
didn’t fit in my father’s plans and... Well, I kind of got kicked out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Really?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“After I told my
father, I was leaving,” Darinel explained, his hands moving to support his
words. “I wanted to spare him the embarrassment so I packed my things and told
everybody I was going on an adventure.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“And that’s why you
are here now?” the voice inquired, amused.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Nah!” the prince
said with a smirk. “I just wanted to leave with a believable explanation, so my
father wouldn’t lose face for having a firstborn who doesn’t want to
fight...and to make room for my little brother.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Lose his face? Like
it would fall off?” the voice asked, confused.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">The prince laughed.
“Man, what rock have you been living under?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Why? What’s so wrong
with living under a rock?” The voice sounded hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">The prince bit his
lip to stop the laughter building up in his chest, but failed miserably.
Laughing, he replied, “It’s just an expression. Haven’t you heard it before?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Not that I recall,”
the voice said, sulking. “And I pride myself on knowing quite a few phrases.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">The prince sat up
straight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“I’m sorry. It is a
common phrase where I’m from and it stands for ‘to be embarrassed by someone’s
actions.’ But it also means to lose respect and honour.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, I see. So, by
admitting that you hate fighting, you would be a disappointment to your father
and he would be embarrassed by you. Am I correct?” inquired the voice, eager.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">The prince winced.
“Yeah, you could put it like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Ha! I learned
something new today!” the voice said, excited. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">The prince smiled.
“Glad to be of help.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“So, what’s that got
to do with your little brother?” the voice asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Well, I’m the first
born and so would inherit my father’s kingdom. My little brother would have
been the one to leave and find his own place.” Darinel intertwined his long
fingers. “But he belongs there and is madly in love with the daughter of one of
the knights.” He smiled at remembering his brother’s astonished face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“With me still being
unmarried, they weren’t allowed to wed either. You know, stupid rules royalty
have to live by,” he added, flinging his hands in the air. “So I decided to go.
This way he can marry and stay in my father’s kingdom.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Quite a noble
sacrifice.” The voice sounded impressed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh no...” The prince
smiled, embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Of course it is!”
the voice boomed, and a few rocks splashed into the creek. “You gave up
everything for your brother.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">The prince shook his
head. “Isn’t that what any big brother would do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“I don’t know.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">The voice remained
silent for a moment and Darinel watched the stream as it rushed by. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“So why are you here
then?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">A grin flashed over
the prince’s face. “Princess Tuskja dared me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Did she now?” The
voice sounded amused. “Knowing her, I can picture that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“You are acquainted
with the princess?” He looked up, surprised.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Well, just from her
roaming around,” the voice admitted. “She has quite an inquisitive mind. She
explored my mountains for a while.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">The prince nodded.
“Yeah, sounds like her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“But then her father
found out and locked her up in the castle.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"> Darinel shaded his eyes, but still couldn’t
make out where the voice was coming from. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“I heard rumours
about that. Anyway, all I wanted to do is settle here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“So what happened?”
the voice asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“I went to the king
to ask his permission to stay,” the prince said, “which he granted. But then he
threw in this assignment of killing the dragon and getting his daughter in
reward.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Really?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yep, that’s the
deal,” the prince said. “I thanked the king and pointed out I was only interested
in settling down, not marrying. That’s when the princess dared me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Ouch!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yeah.” He sighed. “I
could not let that pass, could I? She ridiculed me in front of the whole court.
So I packed my horse and came up here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“That’s tough,” the
voice replied sympathetically.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yes, it is. But
anyway, it’s way too hot to fight today. And I’d rather make friends than
enemies. So, won’t you come out now and sit with me?” the prince offered a second
time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">Silence fell over the
little valley, where the creek bubbled quietly. He feared the voice had left
when a loud rustle like sails in the breeze filled the air. The sun disappeared
as the wind picked up. Little dust roses curled skyward and showered him with
debris. He leaned into the rock as the dragon landed in front of him. With
great care, the beast folded its wings, curling his tail around him. Darinel’s
eyes widened with admiration. Tall as three horses stacked on top of each other
and wide as a house, the dragon towered over him. His dark green scales
reflected the sunlight so intensely he had to shade his eyes. Impressive claws
scraped the ground as the dragon tilted his head and golden eyes studied him
with keen interest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">He smiled as he observed<span style="color: maroon;"> </span>the dragon in return. For a moment, neither of
them spoke and Darinel had the feeling the beast was as curious about him as he
was about it. Slowly, it lowered his triangle-shaped head to take a good sniff
at him, revealing its horned eye ridges. Darinel held his breath, but strangely
he didn’t feel scared, more intrigued. The dragon didn’t look mean. Its golden
eyes radiated warmth and longing more than fierceness and malice. It was
intelligent with a wicked sense of humour. He liked that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">“You knew it was me
all along?” the dragon asked, eyeing him suspiciously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">The prince tilted his
head, so he could see the dragon better and smiled. “Who else would be out here
with a dangerous dragon lurking around in the mountains?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">Author Bio:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3lOsNDePtlFsTF5N4DeLEDp9F20NIWJR2jW5yDuXS9AGwJLWEv71I4tQKH-JhIsDanEAuIMZxPoBPDa2Ms0ZFc1KS70-3O6zrMnQa-16S3vDoISWPg6SRtpYIWJHEf1dsQ8idvxTUjo/s1600/DSCF3351_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3lOsNDePtlFsTF5N4DeLEDp9F20NIWJR2jW5yDuXS9AGwJLWEv71I4tQKH-JhIsDanEAuIMZxPoBPDa2Ms0ZFc1KS70-3O6zrMnQa-16S3vDoISWPg6SRtpYIWJHEf1dsQ8idvxTUjo/s200/DSCF3351_2.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<i>Born and raised in
Germany, Antje Hergt came to explore the Canadian Rockies in Canmore, Alberta
in 2003. Taking part in the Writing-with-Style Program at the Banff Centre for
the Arts in 2007 encouraged her to follow her passion: writing for children.
Darinel Dragonhunter is her first novel, which was inspired by her deep love
for classic children literature and fairy tales. Her thrill for science
fiction/fantasy movies and television shows had an outlet in various genre
short stories. She is a member of the Alberta Writer’s Guild and graduated from
the Justus-Liebig-University in Giessen with a degree in Modern Languages.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Currently, Antje still
lives in Canmore with her snoring cat, Sally, and gets inspired by the magic of
the Rocky Mountains. If she is not in Canmore, you can find her in Germany.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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