Title: FREE OF MALICE
Author: Liz Lazarus
Publisher: Mitchell Cove Publishing LLC
Laura Holland awakes in the middle of the night to see a stranger standing in her bedroom doorway. She manages to defend herself from the would-be rapist, though he threatens to return as he retreats. Traumatized with recurring nightmares, Laura seeks therapy and is exposed to a unique treatment called EMDR. She also seeks self-protection— buying a gun against the wishes of her husband. When Laura learns she could have gone to prison had she shot her fleeing assailant, she decides to write a hypothetical legal case using the details of that night. She enlists the help of criminal defense lawyer, Thomas Bennett, who proves to be well versed in the justice system but has an uncanny resemblance to her attacker. As the two work together to develop the story, Laura's discomfort escalates particularly when Thomas seems to know more about that night than he should. Reality and fiction soon merge as her real life drama begins to mirror the fiction she's trying to create.
For More Information
Run. Run faster. As much as I strained my legs to move, they were immobile, like I was waist deep in quicksand.
Why can’t I move?
I tried to scream for help but my mouth was full, like it was stuffed with cotton—no sound would escape.
I felt something clutching my shoulder. No, it was someone. He was pushing me forward and then yanking me back. I tried to jerk away but he had a tight grip, like a vice.
I have to break free.
The tugging got harder, more forceful. He was calling my name— over and over. He knew my name.
I jolted awake—my husband’s hand still on my shoulder.
“Honey, wake up. You’re having another bad dream.”
Slowly, I turned over in bed and looked at him—his dark brown eyes were fixated on me. I could see them clearly as the light from the bathroom brightened our bedroom.
For a month now, we had slept with this light on.
I could see the small wrinkle on his forehead. I loved that wrinkle though wished he didn’t have good reason to be so concerned. I was enduring the nightmares, but he had to deal with my tossing and mumbling in terror.
I remember when we first met—ten years ago in chemistry lab at Georgia Tech. He had walked up to me with those warm eyes and a charming, confident smile and asked, “Want to be partners?”
Two years later he took me to Stone Mountain Park, rented a small rowboat and, in the moonlight, he pulled out a diamond ring and asked me again, “Want to be partners?”
Life had seemed just about perfect.
We looked at each other for a moment. Then he propped himself up on his elbow and said softly, “Laura, I feel so helpless. I know it’s only been a month, but...”
“What?” I asked.
“It’s just as bad as that first night. After it happened. Look, I want to make you feel safe again, but I don’t know how.”
He rubbed his eyes and looked away. I waited, staring at him.
What isn’t he saying?
“I know you don’t want to see a therapist, but seeing someone doesn’t mean you’re crazy. Therapists don’t treat just crazy people. They help people who have been through traumas and you have. Hell, no one even has to know.”
He paused for a second.
“Don’t be mad at me, but yesterday I made an appointment for you. I was going to talk to you about it in the morning if you had another bad dream. I found a woman who is downtown by my office. She’s been practicing for about twenty years, got her doctorate from Emory and comes with really good patient reviews.”
He looked for my reaction and continued. “I made the appointment for you at 4:00 so we can go to dinner afterward. You know what you always say. You’ll try anything once, right?”
“I told you I don’t want to see a psychiatrist,” I pushed back. “I just need more time. I’ll bounce back. You know I almost came in the house on my own today. Besides, if I see a psychiatrist, on every job application I complete in the future, I’ll have to check the ‘Yes’ box when they ask if I’ve had mental health treatment.”
“Jesus. No you don’t. You’re too innocent sometimes.”
He gently tapped me on the nose.
“You can check the box ‘No.’ Besides, if that’s the only thing stopping you, I think you should give it a try. Her name is Barbara Cole. I’ll take you to Houston’s afterward,” he added.
I ignored the bribe. “But what can she do that you can’t? All she’ll do is listen and you do that for me already. Psychiatrists are for people who don’t have friends or husbands to talk to.”
Chris shook his head.
“Please? Do it for me.”
The tone in his voice was different—more helpless than normal. Chris had been so understanding, so comforting this past month, especially considering I had been waking him every night. How could I refuse his request?
I sighed. “Okay,” I relented. “I’ll go.”
“One visit. That’s all I’m asking. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to go back. She’s a psychologist, by the way, not a psychiatrist. She does therapy, not drugs.”
He glanced at the clock. It was 3:30 a.m.
Chris grabbed Konk, my stuffed animal gorilla that I won at the state fair by outshooting him at the basketball game. He had sworn the scum running the game couldn’t take his eyes off my butt and let me win.
“Here’s Konk,” he said. “I’m going to finish my presentation since I’m up. I’ll just be in the office. Want the door open?”
“Yes,” I said as I wrapped my arms tightly around Konk.
“Hey, we’ll celebrate your first therapy visit and my signed contract, I hope, this evening.”
“You mean you hope my first visit?” I said with a playful smile.
He gave me a look—he was in no mood for jokes.
“Fine. Fine. I’ll go,” I assured.
“If you’re asleep when I leave, just come by my office after the appointment and we’ll head to dinner. Try to get some sleep. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
About the Author
Liz Lazarus is the author of Free of Malice, a psychological, legal thriller loosely based on her personal experience and a series of ‘what if’ questions that trace the after effects of a foiled attack; a woman healing, and grappling with the legal system to acknowledge her right to self-defense.
She was born in Valdosta, Georgia, graduated from Georgia Tech with an engineering degree and the Kellogg School of Management at Northwestern with an MBA in their executive master’s program. She spent most of her career at General Electric’s Healthcare division and is currently a Managing Director at a strategic planning consulting firm in addition to being an author.
Free of Maliceis her debut novel, set in Atlanta, and supplemented by extensive research with both therapists and criminal defense attorneys. She currently lives in Brookhaven, GA, with her fiancé, Richard, and their very spoiled orange tabby, Buckwheat.
For More Information
Liz is giving away a $25 B&N Gift Card & an autographed copy of FREE OF MALICE!!
Terms & Conditions:
Good luck everyone!
ENTER TO WIN!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Inside the Book:
Title: The World Weavers
Author: Kelley Grant
Release Date: April 19, 2016
Publisher: Harper Voyager
But the war between gods and humans has enveloped the entire land. Sulis’s twin, Kadar, joins forces with the nomadic warrior tribes of the desert. Little by little, the desert armies draw the deities away from their stronghold in the north, towards their doom.
In the face of a battle that will reshape mankind’s destiny and the face of the earth itself, old friendships will be tested and new alliances forged.
In this spellbinding denouement to Desert Rising and The Obsidian Temple, Kelley Grant brings her epic trilogy to a thunderous and powerful conclusion.
Meet the Author:Kelley Grant grew up in the hills of Ohio’s Amish country. Her best friends were the books she read, stories she created and the forest and fields that inspired her. She and her husband live on a wooded hilltop and are owned by five cats, a dog and numerous uninvited critters. Besides writing, Kelley teaches yoga and meditation, sings kirtan with her husband, and designs brochures and media.
For More Information
Visit Kelley at her website
Tuesday, April 19 - Book featured at 3 Partners in Shopping
Wednesday, April 20 - Book featured at Voodoo Princess
Thursday, April 21 - Book featured at Bent Over Bookwords
Friday, April 22 - Book featured at The Recipe Fairy
Monday, April 25 - Book featured at Cover 2 Cover
Tuesday, April 26 - Book featured at I'm Shelf-ish
Wednesday, April 27 - Book featured at Write and Take Flight
Thursday, April 28 - Book featured at The Bookworm Lodge
Friday, April 29 - Book featured at My Bookish Pleasures
Monday, May 2 - Book featured at A Title Wave
Tuesday, May 3 - Book featured at The Review From Here
Wednesday, May 4 - Book featured at Literal Exposure
Thursday, May 5 - Book featured at Book Cover Junkie
Friday, May 6 - Book featured at Confessions of an Eccentric Bookaholic
Monday, May 9 - Book featured at A Taste of My Mind
Tuesday, May 10 - Book featured at Around the World in Books
Wednesday, May 11 - Book featured at Chosen By You Book Club
Thursday, May 12 - Book featured at Live Love Books Blog
Interviewed at Urban Fantasy Investigations
Friday, May 13 - Book featured at Talking Books Blog
Interviewed at Deal Sharing Aunt
PURCHASE THE BOOK HERE!
About the Book
Title: The Son of Light Book 2: The M.B.S. Guild
Author: Chris Parker
Despite having the worst birthday in his life, sixteen year old Joshua Suzuki finally gets his birthday wish—to get out of his house in Porter Ranch, California, which he had spent a decade locked up in. But his wish would be an unusual one because he soon finds himself in an underground college, which belonged to secret organization, called the M.B.S. (Mind, Body, and Soul) Guild. This blows Josh’s mind. And what shocks him even more is that his twenty-six year old foster brother, Nickolas Suzuki, is the leader of the M.B.S. Guild.
Nick wastes no time in telling Josh the horrible truth to why they’ve been in hiding for ten years — The Demon Lord, Hexen, has returned. Nick puts Josh in the protection of his crazy college friends to train him in the art of energy, as Nick travels around the world for clues about Lord Hexen’s origins.
But after being lured out of the guild, Josh find himself in the outside world again, a world far more dangerous than the last time. Now, Josh has to find his way back to the guild while dealing with violent bandits, crazed zombie-like people, and worst of all, Lord Hexen. Can Josh survive?
The Son of Light Book 2: The M.B.S. Guild is an adult fantasy novel that features fast-paced action, and side-splitting comedy. If you like the Harry Potter and A Game of Thrones novels, then you like The Son of Light book 2.
Chris Parker started writing during his community college years until he transferred to a film school, Columbia College Hollywood, after losing his house in 2008. There he came up with many stories such as, The Son of Light. However, he went to school to become an editor. After earning his BA, Chris went back to his first love, writing.
Author: Monique Domovitch
Publisher: Lansen Publishing
Scorpio's Kiss is a spell-binding tale of love, ambition and greed that will keep the reader turning the pages until its surprise ending. Set in New York and Paris amid the glamorous and competitive worlds of art and real estate, Scorpio's Kiss takes the reader from the late 1940s to the 1960s through the tumultuous lives of its heroes.
There is Alex Ivanov, the son of a Russian immigrant and part-time prostitute. He yearns to escape his sordid life and achieve fame and fortune. His dreams of becoming a world-class builder are met with countless obstacles, yet he perseveres in the hope of someday receiving the recognition he craves.
Half a world away, Brigitte Dartois is an abused teenager who runs into the arms of a benefactor with an agenda all his own. When she finds out that her boss has an ulterior motive, she flees again, determined to earn her living through her art. This career brings her fame, but also the unwanted attention of her early abuser.
Domovitch’s novel is a compelling tale, filled with finely etched characters and a superb understanding of the power of ambition. Scorpio's Kiss promises to resonate with all who once had a dream.
For More InformationBook Excerpt:
The days were getting shorter. The boy looked up in surprise at the sky, which had suddenly grown dark. He pulled his worn sweater tight against the October chill, blew warm breath into his cupped hands and hurried on. The newspaper bag strung across his shoulders was almost empty. He no longer had to put it down at every street corner to massage his sore back. He was almost home.
Alexander Ivanov lived at the end of the world. To the twelve-year-old, that was exactly what Brooklyn was; the end of the world. Maybe because the one time he had been to the city, what he called Manhattan, it had taken forever on the subway.
Alex hated living in Brooklyn, and never more so than when his mother talked about her youth in Leningrad with tears running down her face. She would revert to Russian, which he didn’t understand, but the passion in her eyes spoke more volubly of the beauty of her old country than words could convey.
Every day on his way back from school, weighed down by the load of newspapers, he passed the same dusty old stores, their signs barely legible from the peeling paint; the same ratty tenement buildings in which people suffocated in the summer and shivered in the winter; the same old women in their ritual wigs and shapeless dresses, vacant and blank expressions of hopelessness etched on their faces. Hopeless, that was how he sometimes felt; and then he would remember Manhattan and feel better. If there was one thing Alex wished for, it was to live in Manhattan. He yearned for Manhattan the way his mother pined for her old country.
Alex walked along Main Street, where pickles marinated in barrels, salamis swung from hooks, and sausages dried in their cotton bags. He was oblivious to the sights and smells around him. One by one, he took the papers from his bag, and with a quick, experienced motion, he threw them. His aim was almost perfect.
Tomorrow was collection day. He would stop at each house along his route and wait while his clients went to get their money. After making change, he would thank each one of them politely even though most never bothered to leave him a tip. His work would take him more than twice as long as on normal delivery days. Still, he looked forward to it. Collection day was when he could go home, count out his profits and decide how much of the money he could save. This week, if all went well, he might reach the fifty-dollar mark in his bank account. Fifty dollars! It was a fortune.
He reached into his bag, pulled out the last newspaper and aimed it with unerring precision at the Kodesky’s front porch. At that moment the door swung open and old man Kodesky stepped out. The paper flew through the air like a projectile and landed with a thud in the startled man’s well-padded stomach.
“Hey, you no-good little piece of shit!” He waved his fist. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Alex did not hear a word. He was a million miles away, dreaming of the day he would escape the hell of living at the end of the world.
Even now, two years later, he could still remember every detail of his trip to Manhattan. After a long subway ride, he’d emerged in the city surrounded by skyscrapers so tall, he could only see the top by looking up high and leaning back. People on the street rushed about in the lightly falling snow, pushing and jostling each other, their arms full of brightly wrapped packages. It was one week before Christmas and there was a dizzying feeling of joy in the air. Alex had been almost drunk from the excitement. This must be what Leningrad was like.
Deep in his dreams of unlimited delights, he walked home. Three blocks later, Alex climbed the stairs to the dingy one-bedroom apartment where he and his mother lived.
Before he was born, his mother had tried to make the apartment look warm and inviting. She hung pretty paper on the walls and crisp curtains over the windows. The furniture was inexpensive but attractive and functional. Whatever nesting instinct had once inspired Marlena Ivanov’s efforts had long disappeared. For the past twelve years she had done nothing more to improve her home. Indeed, she had not done even the most basic of repairs. Over time, the wallpaper had become worn and faded. The curtains lost their freshness and the once attractive furniture became old and shabby. The sour stench of poverty clung to the apartment like old dirt.
Alex closed the door behind him and dropped his canvas bag on the floor. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. From the kitchen came the smell of boiled cabbage.
“Is dat you Alexander? Vere ver you? Is nearly six o’clock and dinner is been ready for hour,” his mother’s heavily accented voice called out from the bathroom. “I getting ready to go out. You vill ave to eat alone.”
Through the thin door came the sound of the toilet flushing. A moment later Marlena appeared wearing a tight pink sweater set and a black satin skirt. Her dark hair was freshly coifed, the marks of the bobby pins still imprinted between each wave. Her mouth was painted crimson in the shape Joan Crawford had made popular a decade earlier. From ten feet away the smell of vodka on her breath was overpowering.
“Will you be coming home by yourself?” asked the boy suspiciously.
“Vat you vant me to do?” She picked up her purse abruptly and threw in her lipstick. “You vant to eat. I not do dis for me. A boy need food to grow big, strong. Someday you understand.” A moment later, she was gone.
Marlena Ivanov was a bitter woman. She made no secret of the fact that raising a boy by herself was a heavy cross to carry, one she deeply resented. Alex sometimes thought his mother hated him almost as much as she did his father. He had never seen his father. He knew, only because his mother repeatedly told him, that Pavel Ivanov had been a gambler and a womanizer. Whatever wages the man had earned, he just as quickly spent on those two vices. The day Alex was born was the day Pavel Ivanov decided that married life was not for him. He disappeared, leaving his seventeen-year-old wife to deal with the struggles of working and raising a son by herself.
After a dinner of cabbage soup, Alex turned off the lights and climbed under his blankets. In the dark, he could clearly see his mother’s empty bed a few feet from his own. He turned his back to it and curled up.
Hours later, the muffled sound of laughter woke him up. The bedroom door swung open and the light turned on.
“Turn dat off. You vake up boy,” his mother ordered in a shrill whisper. The light flicked off. “Das better. I like dark.” She laughed. “Now, come to Marlena.” Clothes rustled. From his cot, in the corner of the room, Alex guessed every gesture, every movement. Old springs creaked. The sounds were loud, magnified by the stillness of the night.
Alex covered his ears. By trying hard, maybe he could keep the noises from reaching him. It was too late. The guilty stirring in his loins had already begun. His mind swirled in a mix of emotions too strong for him to understand. Maybe if he thought of something else. Someday I’ll drive in from the city in a brand new Cadillac. I’ll show them all…
The next morning, Marlena kissed the man goodbye and turned triumphantly to Alex. “See dis?” She pulled out a ten-dollar bill from between her breasts. “Dis can buy food for whole week.”
Alex looked away, embarrassed and ashamed, and returned to the picture he was drawing on the back of his spelling book.
Monique Domovitch is giving away 5 paperback and 5 ebook copies of SCORPIO’S KISS!
Terms & Conditions:
Good luck everyone!
ENTER TO WIN!
About the Author
Monique Domovitch has had many careers, starting with being one of Canada’s top models. When she retired from modeling she moved on to a career in the financial services as an adviser and planner, specializing in helping women attain financial freedom. During those years, she was also one of the first women in Canada to host her own national financial television show. During all those years, Monique’s dream was always to someday become a writer. Ten years ago, Monique attended a writer’s conference where the first line of one of her novels was read out loud in a workshop, attracting the attention of a publisher and an agent.
Since that life-changing conference, Monique Domovitch has published nine books, four with Penguin using the pen name Carol Ann Martin, two with Harlequin using her own name, and another two with Lansen Publishing. Scorpio’s Kiss was previously published as two novels, Scorpio Rising and The Sting of the Scorpio. Scar Tissue, her latest, is her ninth novel and she is hard at work on her tenth.
A great believer in the energizing power of writers’ conferences, she says that if not for that first conference she attended, she would not be published today.
For More Information
I round the corner into the secluded hall leading to the washrooms, and my heart stops. Cash on the ice, sweaty and dressed in hockey equipment, was sexy, but the Cash sitting feet away, wearing an expensive modern-fit, pastel brown suit, is insanely hot. I eye the two women perched on either side of him on the red velvet chaise. To his right, a long-haired blonde with extensions rests a possessive hand on his chest. To his left, a woman with jet black hair toys with her side ponytail while running the fingers of her other hand through his wavy honey-colored hair.
His piercing blue gaze snaps to mine, and he tilts his head to the side, studying me. A cocky grin curves his full lips. I move forward, unable to breathe as his stare slides down my peplum dress, stopping once at my breasts and once at my hips. His eyes lock with mine and I fiddle with the gold-toned slider bracelet around my wrist. He pushes up from the chaise, abandoning the two women feeling him up in the corner. I turn away, and as my palm slams against the door of the ladies room, a big, warm hand closes around my wrist.
Cash spins me around and I press back against the wall beside the door. He cages me, his palms flat on either side of my head. He leans toward me, his mouth inches from my face, so close I can the warmth of his breath tickling my cheek. He smells ridiculously good, like honey and cinnamon.
“Mittens,” he whispers, his mouth dangerously close to my lips. “I didn’t peg you as the stalking type, especially since you took off after I scored that hard-earned goal for you.”
What an arrogant bastard!
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me? Do I know you?”
His eyes flicker, and his lips curl in amusement. “Come on, Quinn. I don’t ever forget a pretty face. I’m willing to bet you don’t forget one either.”
My heart pounds as I glare into his sharp baby blues. His sexy athletic build towers over me. He makes me feel even more petite than usual. I try to ignore the rise and fall on his muscular chest, but despite myself my nipples harden.
Even though my body is betraying me, I refuse to act like every other puck bunny, falling at his feet. “You’re really full of yourself, aren’t you?” I say. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the ladies room.”
He chuckles, “How about you stop playing games with me and admit you came here looking for me.”
I shoot him a disgusted look. “I’m not here for you.”
Cash smiles at me with what I am guessing to be one of his most charmingly rehearsed expressions. He cocks his head to the side then bites his bottom lip like he is thinking about something. “Alright, since you want to play it that way…” He leans in close enough that I feel his stubble brush against my cheek. “Can I buy you a drink?”
An unwelcome shiver of awareness shoots up my spine. “Listen, asshole. I am Hilton Ashby’s daughter and the newest employee in the Marketing and Promotions Department for the Bruisers. So if you wouldn’t mind stepping aside so I can freshen up, I would really appreciate it.”
Cash’s dimples deepen, and a dangerous grin pulls at the corners of his lips. “Perfect, now I know where I can find you.”
I feel myself weaken for a brief second at his smile, until I remind myself this guy is nothing but trouble. Wrapping my fingers tightly around his tie, I yank him against my chest, and whisper in his ear, “Stay away from me, Brooks. I don’t do arrogant dickheads.”
Cash looks straight into my eyes, his grin still in place. He runs a callused fingertip along my collarbone. “I’m not going anywhere.” He leans down, his lips close to mine. “I promise you, this is just the beginning.”
When he steps back, I have to press my back hard against the wall to keep myself from sliding down to the floor. He runs his thumb possessively over my lips, before he turns around and walks over to his two voluptuous dates waiting for him on the chaise.
I inhale a sharp breath, before I push open the door into the ladies room. I collapse into one of the stalls unable to breathe. I can still feel where Cash’s stubble touched the side of my face and wonder how I am ever going to survive this internship.
Series: SEALs of Coronado, Book One
Release Date: April 12, 2016
When investigative journalist Hayley Garner is kidnapped by terrorists, she's sure they're going to kill her. But in sweeps handsome Navy SEAL Chasen Ward to rescue her. After getting her to safety, he disappears into the night before she can even thank him.
Weeks later, while covering a story on the local navy base, Hayley runs into Chasen again. Even though she didn't see his face that night he rescued her, she can't forget his beautiful blue eyes.
The attraction is immediate and intense, and Hayley finds herself falling into a fiery romance with the hunky hero out of her dreams. Guys like this aren’t supposed to really exist, but Chasen does, and damn is he hot.
But ever since she got back home, Hayley has had the feeling someone's been watching her. Is it post-traumatic stress or does she have a reason to be afraid? Good thing she has a Navy SEAL to protect her.
Barnes & Noble ~ Kobo ~ iBooks
She’d thought he’d be easy to find, but the place was SEAL hunk central, with an awful lot of the fit, attractive guys in attendance. While quite a few of them flashed charming grins in her direction, none of them had those unforgettable blue eyes she’d spent the past four weeks seeing in her dreams.
Her earlier assessment had been right. This was hopeless.
Sighing, Hayley turned to go in search of Brad instead and almost smacked right into the broad, muscular chest of a guy in blue camo. She stared at his uniform up close, absently wondering why the Navy wore blue camouflage. It wasn’t like they were ever going to be in a blue jungle. She glanced at the rank on his collar—noting the three chevrons of a petty officer first class—then the nametag sewn on the right hand side of his chest, noting his name—it said WARD—before lifting her head to apologize for practically mowing him down. But when her gaze met his, all she could do was stare. There couldn’t be two men on the planet with eyes that blue. She’d found the SEAL who’d saved her life.
“It’s you,” she breathed.
Okay, that definitely wasn’t the most intelligent thing she’d ever said out loud. But the SEAL smiled anyway, flashing the cutest pair of dimples her way. Hayley’s breath hitched. She’d tried to picture what he looked like ever since that night, alternating between Chris Hemsworth and Henry Cavill and finally settling on a combination of the two. She hadn’t even been close. Petty Officer Ward was even more gorgeous than she imagined. Taller than she was by nearly a foot, he had broad shoulders, dark hair, and a square jaw to go along with those mesmerizing eyes. Now, this was what a superhero should look like.
“It is,” he said. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well, Ms. Garner.”
She’d been so caught up in the memory of the captivating blue of his eyes she’d completely forgotten how sexy his voice was. The deep, rich tones caressed her, making her feel warm all over. Just like they had that night in Africa. Wow, this guy was pure sexy, wrapped in blue camo. She had a crazy urge to ask him to say something else—anything else—so she could hear that voice again.
“Call me Hayley, please,” she finally managed.
She offered him her hand, pulse skipping when he took it. Wow, he had really big hands. A little part of her mind whispered something about the significance of that, but she ignored it. Instead, she focused on the overall sense of strength seeming to pour off him in waves. Being this close to him and getting a chance to take in how tall and muscular he was reminded her of the way he’d picked her up and carried her so effortlessly that night—all while using a weapon.
Hayley had never thought of herself as the kind of woman who wanted to be swept off her feet by a guy, but right now she was thinking this man could carry her anywhere he wanted to.
Damn, this guy was seriously messing with her calm, cool journalist exterior.
“Chasen Ward,” he said.
Chasen. Unusual, but it fit him. Gorgeous name for a gorgeous guy.
She wondered if the guy realized the kind of effect he likely had on every woman on the planet, especially the one standing right in front of him. Probably not, she guessed. Guys were usually clueless about that kind of stuff.
“How did things go over there?” she asked. “After you got me out, I mean.”
She cringed as soon as the words were out. Guess he hadn’t messed with her journalist mojo as much as she’d thought. Crap, now he’d think she was looking for a scoop. Nothing turned people off more than a nosy reporter.
But he merely nodded. The shade from the brim on his hat accentuated his chiseled features as he moved, making them seem even more angular.
“They went well,” he said. “My Team and I got back a few days ago as a matter of fact.”
Her inner Barbara Walters wanted to ask what else they’d done over there, but before she could decide if that was a good idea or not, two other Navy guys in blue camouflage sauntered over. Both petty officers second class, they were tall, well-built, and good looking.
“Hey, I know you,” the younger of the two men said with a trace of a Southern accent. Blond with brown eyes, he had that casual Channing Tatum-thing going on. “Though I hope you don’t mind me saying, you look a lot better now than you did the last time we saw you.” Hayley frowned in confusion at the two men, sure she would have remembered if she’d met them before.
Chasen chuckled. “This is Dalton Jennings and Nash Cantrell. They were with me when we rescued you that night. You’ll have to forgive Dalton for being clueless. He’s taken several classes on how to be charming, but unfortunately, he keeps failing them.”
She laughed and shook hands with both men. Dalton looked so chagrined, she couldn’t help but take pity on him. “Don’t worry about it, Dalton. I’m well aware of how much of a mess I looked that night. Thanks for being there with Chasen and the rest of your Team.”
The SEAL visibly relaxed, giving her another grin. “No problem. Just doing our job, ma’am.”
Dalton might have failed out of charm school—according to Chasen at least—but there wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t swoon over that Southern drawl.
“I know it was hard to tell with all the gear we had on,” Dalton continued. “But I was the one doing this.”
Dark eyes suddenly intense, he struck an action hero pose, arms lifted as if he were holding an imaginary machine gun. On either side of him, Chasen and Nash snorted in unison.
“You mean you were the one nearly running into every wall around you because the batteries in your NVGs were dying.” Nash pointed out drily, his dark eyes filled with amusement.
Dalton considered that a moment, then dropped the pose and shrugged. “That might have been me.”
Hayley laughed, unable to help herself. They were both funny—and seriously cute—but she had to admit she was glad when they took off a little while later, leaving her alone with Chasen.
“How is your ankle feeling?” he asked as his buddies walked off toward the pavilion.
“Much better, thanks,” she said.
He looked down pointedly at her foot where it peeked out from under her long skirt. She’d tried not to make it obvious, but she’d been standing with all her weight on her good foot so she could give the injured one a rest. Chasen lifted a brow as if he saw through the little white lie.
Hayley gave him a sheepish look. “Okay, you caught me. It still hurts a little. But it really is much better. Thanks to you.”
“If you hadn’t gotten there in time, a messed-up ankle would have been the least of my worries. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for saving my life.”
That playful grin returned. “I’m more than ready to call it even if you consider going out to dinner with me.”
If Chasen were any other guy, Hayley might consider making him work a little harder for a date. But she’d been more than ready to go out with him since he’d loaded her on that helicopter over in Africa. Heck, there’d been a time or two when she’d woken up from an especially nice dream involving the Navy
SEAL when she was ready to do a lot more than date the guy. Rip off his uniform and roll around on the floor with him being one thing that came to mind.
“Dinner sounds great,” she said, quite proud of her ability to maintain her composure.
“Friday night work for you?”
Hayley entered her number in his phone while he did the same with hers, then she gave him her address.
“I’ll see you at 1830 hours,” he said, then chuckled. “I mean, six-thirty.”
“I can’t wait,” she said, and meant it.
Touching his fingers to the brim of his hat in a causal salute, Chasen gave her another smile then strode off. Hayley let out a sigh as she watched him go. Damn, he made that blue camouflage uniform look good.
About the Author:
Paige is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of sexy romantic suspense and paranormal romance. She graduated from The University of West Florida with a degree in education in 2000, but decided to pursue a full-time career as a writer in 2004. Since then, she’s written over fifty books in several genres, including paranormal, contemporary, western, sci-fi and erotica. She loves writing about strong, sexy, alpha males and the feisty, independent women who fall for them. From verbal foreplay to sexual heat, her stories of romance, adventure, suspense, passion and true love will leave you breathlessly panting for more.
She and her very own military hero (also known as her husband) live on the beautiful Florida coast with their adorable fur baby (also known as their dog). Paige graduated with a degree in education, but decided to pursue her passion and write books about hunky alpha males and the kick-butt heroines who fall in love with them.
When not working on her latest book, Paige enjoys reading, jogging, P90X, Yoga, Pilates, going to the beach, watching NFL football, watching movies and hanging out with her husband (not necessarily in that order!)
Title: The Hidden Reality
Author: Stephen Martino
Publisher: Light Messages
Genre: Science Fiction/Political Thriller
In the year 2084, the brilliant inventor, Alex Pella, finds himself at a precarious crossroad between the pursuit of justice and preservation of his own sanity. While attempting to undermine an international New World Order government created by the financial juggernaut known as The New Reality, he must also face the hidden truths about his own genetic heritage that are slowly destroying him. After receiving an ambiguous message sent from a former New Reality executive who died 2 years prior, Alex learns that the only possible means to confront this New World Order is to defeat a long-forgotten enemy almost 2500 years old.
THE HIDDEN REALITY is the second stand-alone novel in a trilogy starring Alex Pella, created by New Jersey-based neurologist and entrepreneur Stephen Martino. With his fusion of history, politics, and science fiction, Martino joins such masters of the thriller genre as Dan Brown, James Rollins, and Michael Crichton.
Martino’s villain is a corporation run by a cadre of ruthless international bankers known as The New Reality. Directed by the most corrupt and morally unscrupulous of the bunch, Myra Keres, the company has economically seized control of the world’s governments and the population’s personal freedoms in the process. In order to save humanity from this despot ruler and the unwonted atrocities to which she plans to perpetuate on the world, Alex Pella must infiltrate the company and face an enemy that has unknowingly haunted both him and history for almost 2500 years.
Martino says he wrote THE HIDDEN REALITY more than just to entertain the reader. He wanted to create a modern day Orwellian ANIMAL FARM to allegorically forewarn his readers of a possible dystopia future that awaits all of mankind if humanity continues to proceed down its path of self-destruction.
In THE HIDDEN REALITY, Martino has included such hot-button contemporary topics as genetic cloning, unprecedented economic debt, the rise of big government, and the threat of a New World Order run by the economic elite, while bringing the reader back almost 2500 years into the past when the ancient city state nation known as Greece fought the mighty Persian Empire for world domination.
All of these elements, Martino maintains, separate his book from the pack. He calls THE HIDDEN REALITY “issue-oriented fiction. There are real concerns facing society today that threaten both the sovereignty and prosperity of our future generations. Though fictional, my novel addresses some of these issues and predicts the potential consequences we face as a nation and the world if they are not properly addressed today.”
For More Information
October 11, 1786 Landsbut, Bavaria
THE HYPNOTIC MELODY of the whistling wind and the patter of raindrops hitting the roof ordinarily proved more comforting to Xavier von Zweck than the most angelic lullaby. On this night, the grandfather clock had just chimed 2:00 a.m., and Xavier could barely close his eyes, let alone fall asleep.
Insomnia was no friend of his but had become an accustomed bedtime partner over the past year. Though the night was unusually warm and muggy for a Bavarian October, Xavier pulled another quilted blanket over his body, covering himself as if he were trying to make a cocoon.
“Xavier?” his wife mumbled, half asleep. “You’d rest better with the lamp off.”
“Mind your own business,” he quipped. Not wanting to start another argument, his wife simply turned away and drifted slowly back to sleep as if nothing had occurred. She had become accustomed to her husband’s quick fits of temper and erratic behavior. The man she married in her late teens was certainly not the man she had grown to know over the past year. His gentle, caring demeanor had been transformed into one of paranoia and fear. Though she cared for him dearly, their relationship dwindled as quickly as Xavier’s sanity.
If she only knew, Xavier thought. She would not be sleeping so soundly.
He double-checked his bedside table drawer for the tenth time that night to ensure that his gun was in the proper place. He had loaded the flintlock pistol and stowed it there in case of any emergency. Assured the gun was where he stored it, Xavier rolled on his back and looked blankly up at the ceiling. It was such a noble and just cause, he lamented. The enlightenment we would have brought to Bavaria, if not the world, would have made the Renaissance pale in comparison. Now they hunt us down like a pack of dogs, wanting to rid their country of any contrary thoughts or points of view. The government and church are nothing more than instruments of suppression that hinder man’s true nature to achieve enlightenment and pursue humanitarianism.
Xavier startled as the front door rattled.
Was it just the wind?
He lifted his head, trying not to make a sound. His breathing became shallow while his pulse raced. He could feel his heart pound and temples throb. He listened intently, hoping it was just the storm. Seconds passed like hours. Every raindrop sounded like raging bulls charging through his home. In his heightened awareness, the wind seemed to grow to hurricane proportions. His head darted to the bedroom window as a windblown tree branch only gently scraped across it.
They found me, he trembled. Just as they did all of the other brothers of the order! Baron Kruigge-Philo, Baron Bassus, Ferdinand Brunswick. All taken. Never seen or heard of again.
He looked at the window, expecting soldiers to come barging through it.
Xavier slowly began to ease himself back down to bed after a few terrifying moments.
Just as he was about to breathe relief, the door rattled once again. This time the sound was unmistakable. This was not the storm or some wayward tree branch. Someone was out outside trying to get in.
Wearing only his white-laced nightshirt, Xavier sprang to his feet. Grabbing the fluted lantern from the night table by the base with his right hand and the pistol with the left, he dashed over to the top of the stairs. From that vantage point he had a clear view of the front door. Illuminated by ornate lanterns on both sides and burning candles in the hallway, the door was clearly visible in this moonless night.
Xavier pointed the pistol down the stairs, waiting for any unwanted visitors to enter his home. Though the ivory and gold festooned weapon was an inaccurate shot, at close quarters it should prove accurate enough to stop an intruder.
The door rattled once again, and the person outside accompanied the rattling with seven distinct knocks. There were two doublets and one triplet all separated by a short interval. Could it be? Xavier hesitantly descended the steps, keeping his pistol pointing at the door. The knock was unmistakable. It was the secret cadence required to gain access to the order’s clandestine meetings.
Was it one of his brothers or was this just some sort of rouse the police were using for him to open the door?
“Cato,” a muffled voice said from behind the door.
Stunned, Xavier stood motionless after he descended the last step on the stairs.
“Cato. Open up,” the muffled voice beckoned once again.
This was no rouse or trick. Only a high-ranking brother in the order would know his code name. After a brief moment of disbelief, Xavier placed the pistol in his nightshirt pocket and scurried over to unlatch the lock on the door.
Which of my brothers could it be? There are so few of us left.
He slowly opened the door, peering around the corner just in case this visitor was accompanied by other unwelcome guests. The man was alone and drenched from head to toe. His large brimmed top hat concealed his face, making him unrecognizable.
“Cato,” the man asked in a raspy voice, “May I come in?”
“Yes. Yes,” Xavier finally answered, still not able to recognize the man’s identity or even his voice. “Where are my manners, good sir? Please come in brother.”
As the man walked into the house, Xavier immediately shut the door and fastened the lock behind him. Though the man was a brother, he needed to secure the house in case he had been followed.
“Let me take your hat,” Xavier quickly offered.
Obliging his request, the man handed the soggy hat to his host. Water trickled down from it onto the hardwood floor as Xavier placed it on a coat hook standing next to the door.
Though the man before him was about twenty pounds lighter, and drenched from his balding head down to his long blue-buttoned overcoat. Xavier immediately recognized the man’s identity—Adam Weishaupt. With a slight double chin, cherub-like cheeks and a dubious smile, he was thought to have been put to death after Duke Karl Theodor outlawed their order. But the former leader of their order was obviously still alive and now standing here in his hallway.
“Cato,” Spartacus immediately responded in a rushed and rasped tone. “There is little time. Do you still have everything?”
“Yes,” Xavier responded, still in disbelief that his brother from the order was still alive. “I kept everything hidden just like you requested.” Before he could say anything else, he grabbed Spartacus’s wet shoulders and asked, “How are you old friend? I was certain Duke Theodor had your head after he disbanded the order.”
Spartacus had little time for pleasantries. “Please, Cato. You must quickly bring me everything from the order. A new wave of reasoning is about to ignite in Europe starting in France, and I must be there to foster the initial spark.”
Xavier patted him on the shoulders and smiled in delight. “There’s no rush. Come and change into something dry. Have a cup of tea. The storm should break soon, and I will ready you fresh supplies for your journey ahead.”
“I may have been followed,” Spartacus quickly responded.
Xavier’s delight quickly soured at the revelation, though he knew the good of the order and its message meant more than his anonymity or even his own life.
“Yes. Follow me,” Xavier responded, quickly escorting his friend over to a wooden chest in an adjacent room. Though he had so many questions to ask, he understood he would have to wait for answers.
The room was dark and lit only by two candles almost completely melted to their base. With his lantern held in front of him, Xavier scurried over to the wooden chest and grabbed one of the brass handles along its side. Spartacus grabbed the other, and with little effort the two moved the chest to the side, revealing a small trap door underneath.
Xavier lifted the door by a small latch attached to it and brought his lantern closer so they could both get a better look. In the dim light provided by the lantern, Spartacus could just make out its contents.
Two large books, each with the order’s distinctive symbol imprinted on their cover, lay atop a beautifully ornate silver shield. Though the details of the shield’s artwork were lost in the darkness, the symbols certainly were not: an all-seeing eye surrounded by a pyramid.
The symbol was none other than that of the Order of the Illuminati.
A loud hammering on the front door caught them both by surprise.
Xavier almost dropped his lantern as he jumped back, nearly stumbling in response.
Clamoring from the back door in the rear of the house now accompanied the noise echoing from the front.
“Adam Weishaupt,” a voice bellowed from outside as the incessant banging on the doors continued. “Open up!”
Xavier quickly put down the lantern and wrapped the shield and two books in the linen on which they were lying. “I must get you out of here.”
Taking the linen package, he opened up the chest and grabbed a large leather satchel especially made for these items. Xavier looked at Spartacus while placing the linen package in the pouch. “You must leave now.”
Before he could say anything further, Spartacus interrupted. “Is this everything?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is this everything?” he reiterated over the clamoring noise.
With each new bang, the doors sounded as if they were going to collapse under the intense battering.
“Adam Weishaupt,” another voice from the rear of the house began to yell.
Time was dwindling. It would only be a few moments now before one of the doors would succumb to the beating.
Complicating the commotion, Xavier’s wife came running down the stairs. Carrying a lantern and wearing her nightshirt and cap, she asked, horrified by the commotion, “Who are these people, Xavier? And what do they want?”
“Go back up upstairs,” Xavier responded pointing back towards their bedroom.
Another strong pound came from the front door as its hinges began to give way.
Xavier’s wife stood in the hallway, motionless, looking at her husband and then the door, not knowing what to do.
“Go upstairs,” Xavier insisted with more emphasis.
“Is this everything?” Spartacus emphatically interrupted, taking the leather pouch.
The hinges on the front door continued to loosen and with each new thump the door opened just a small fraction more. Xavier’s wife began to cry and shiver under the stress. Though her husband cared for her dearly, he understood that the order’s cause meant more than even her safety.
He turned to Spartacus, “I have some other papers hidden in the kitchen. Come with me.”
“Who are these people?” Xavier’s wife cried out.
“We are here under the direct orders of Duke Theodor,” a voice from behind the front door insisted, the clamoring momentarily stopped. “Adam Weishaupt, come out.”
Xavier’s wife quickly went over to the door and began to fumble with the lock. She respected the authorities and certainly wanted no trouble with the Duke. Whoever her husband was harboring at this moment needed to leave.
“No!” shouted Xavier as he turned in disbelief to see his wife begin to unlatch the door.
He attempted to stop her but Spartacus grabbed him by the shoulder. “The other papers,” Spartacus shouted. “I must have the other papers!”
“But—” Xavier was cut off as Spartacus shoved him towards the kitchen.
The door to the rear of the house smashed open, leaving pieces of wooden shards all over the floor. Soldiers in long blue overcoats carrying bayonet rifles in their hands came barging through and into the storage room. The room was cluttered, wet from the storm, and blanketed in total darkness, which proved to be Xavier’s best defense.
One of the soldiers began to shout in agony as his companion accidentally bayoneted his leg upon tripping.
“Move it,” a boisterous voice from the rear urged, grabbing the fallen soldiers and attempting to bring them to their feet on the slippery floor.
“Take this,” Xavier insisted, removing the pistol out from his nightshirt pocket. “It will provide only one shot. Make it count.”
Spartacus took the weapon but again insisted, “What about the other papers?”
“There is no time,” Xavier responded, “Go down…”
“Where is he?” a voice echoed from the hallway. “Where are you hiding Adam Weishaupt?”
A weak voice responded, “Some man just took my husband into the kitchen.”
“I have a horse ready just outside the wine cellar, in a stall I placed there in case of an emergency.” Xavier continued as he began to perspire under the stress. “There are two days’ worth of supplies and some money strapped to the saddle.”
“But the papers,” Spartacus insisted. “They must not fall into anyone else’s hands.”
Two soldiers suddenly appeared next to the kitchen. “We found him!” one of them yelled.
Xavier quickly handed his friend the lantern and rushed over to the soldiers, hoping to use his body as a shield and give his friend an extra second to escape. “Go now!” he insisted.
Spartacus took the lantern and immediately smashed it against the kitchen table covered in fine linen as Xavier ran over to the soldiers with his arms spread, hoping to block their pursuit. Flaming oil from the lamp spewed out upon the table and onto the walls upon impact, catching them on fire.
Xavier looked back in horror as his house was consumed by flames, while his friend, still holding the base of the lantern, slowly backed away towards the wine cellar.
What’s he doing?
Spartacus knew there was no other option. If the remaining Illuminati papers in the house somehow became public, it could compromise the entire movement. France would remain under its tyrannical rule from the king; all of Europe would remain masked in darkness.
The soldiers began to push past Xavier as he stood motionless. He had grown up in this home, and was the fourth generation of Zwecks to live there. All his belongings and generations worth of memories were turning to ash.
The soldiers stopped their pursuit as Spartacus pulled out the pistol Xavier had given him from his pocket. Taking close aim, he fired. A puff of black smoke momentarily obscured his vision. The bullet directly hit its mark, piercing the man’s heart and sending him tumbling backwards.
Mortally wounded, Xavier fell towards the soldiers who did nothing to stop him from falling on the hard wooden floors. Xavier struck the ground as blood poured from his chest. Letting out a single grunt, he lost consciousness before he could understand what had just transpired.
Spartacus ran down into the wine cellar. The reflection from the burning fire in the kitchen gave him just enough light for him to see his way back towards a set of steps in the back of the room. Though he had just murdered a close friend and brother of the order, he had no time to lament or second guess his actions. The importance of the Illuminati movement far outweighed the significance of one man’s life or worldly possessions—Xavier’s death was for the greater good of all mankind.
The soldiers followed Spartacus in quick pursuit. With their bayonets pointed forward, they ran through the fire-lit kitchen and towards the stairs.
Spartacus heard the soldiers in pursuit; they were closing in on him. Pushing up on a door at the top of the steps, he ascended into a covered barn with an already saddled horse seemingly awaiting his arrival.
A few already burning lanterns in the stall provided just enough illumination for him to see. He then quickly unlatched the barn’s only door and mounted the horse. A bluster of wind blew the door open just as Spartacus began to ride towards it.
Seeing their target attempting to ride away, one of the soldier’s took aim with his rifle before he ascended the final step of the wine cellar. With only one shot and his fellow companion still behind him, he knew the bullet needed to count. His orders were to bring back Adam Weishaupt dead or alive. Dead would work just fine.
The rifle went off with a black puff of smoke.
The bullet passed through Spartacus’s dark overcoat, inflicting only a minor flesh wound to his thigh. Barely noticing the pain, Spartacus put his head down and rode out into the night. With the shield and two books safely secured, he knew the course of mankind would be irrevocably changed from this moment forward.
Stephen Martino is giving away a $50 Amazon Gift Card and 5 copies of his book, THE HIDDEN REALITY!
Terms & Conditions:
Good luck everyone!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Book Title: Richard's Reign (An Enthrall Sessions Novella)
Author: Vanessa Fewings
Genre: Erotic Romance
Release Date: October 25, 2016
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
For fans of Fifty Shades... comes a new novella in the Bestselling ENTHRALL SESSIONS by Vanessa Fewings.
Richard Booth is the senior dominant at the elite BDSM club Enthrall, a thrill-seeking bad boy with an insatiable appetite for dangerous sports and disciplining submissives. His signature brand of wielding pleasure and pain has spread through whispers in Hollywood.
Andrea Buckingham is a young, gorgeous, rising actress on the verge of tackling the movie role of a lifetime, but the strains of a celebrity lifestyle and the relentless demands of a fierce filmmaker threaten to extinguish her rising star.
Andrea pleads to Richard for a salvation from her troubles that only he can provide. But is she too lost to be found? Too fractured to be fixed?
In the most daring of all the Enthrall Sessions, Vanessa Fewings plunges her readers into new depths of passion.
Vanessa is also the author of The Stone Masters Vampire Series. Prior to publishing, Vanessa worked as a registered nurse and midwife. She holds a Masters Degree in Psychology. She has traveled extensively throughout the world and has lived in Germany, Hong Kong, and Cyprus.
Born and raised in England, Vanessa now proudly calls herself an American and resides in California with her husband.
Literary Agent: Trident Media Group
The Vengeful Half
by Jaclyn Dolamore
Genre: YA Fantasy
Release Date: March 10th 2016
Summary from Goodreads:
This novel contains interior comics and art by the author.
Olivia might look human, but sheâs grown up with a heavy secret: her mother is a potion-maker from a parallel world, the Hidden Lands.
Alfred is the blind, charismatic young heir to the illegal potions trade. When Mom is kidnapped by the magic dealers with whom she once made a bad bargain, Olivia has no choice but to trust Alfred's offer of help. They travel to a strange new world of bootlegged American pop culture, lifelike doll people, and reincarnation. Alfred finds himself putting his position on the line to defend Olivia against his familyâs conniving plans. Maybe he has moralsâ¦or maybe heâs just falling in love.
When Olivia escapes from an attack by a curiously familiar sorceress, she learns that potion dealers werenât the only thing Mom was hiding from. Dark secrets lurk in Oliviaâs past, and now Olivia must kill or be killed by the girl with whom she once shared everything...
April 22nd - April 29th
Trinity Laker is the tough-talking, sexy, and talented lead singer for all girl rock band Moonstone. Broke, emotionally and physically damaged from her relationship with her abusive mother,and sometimes homeless, she doesnât have the time or energy for romance of any kind. For Trinity, her world revolves around the band.
From the moment she steps on stage, rich boy Luke Morrison is intrigued by her and knows that he has to have her, no matter what secrets he has to keep.
As soon as Lukeâs lips touched mine I knew I was a goner. Iâd thought of little else but his lips and his kisses and the way he made my insides turn to liquid fire. I didnât think Iâd ever get a chance to feel like that again and now here he was, kissing me again.
I arched against him and moved closer, sliding my hands up his shoulders and into the short strands of hair at the base of his nape. His tongue reached into my mouth and I welcomed it, kissing him deeper. Suddenly I was lifted off the seat by his strong hands at my waist, and found myself straddling his hips. Pain shot through me at his touch, my ribs still sore and tender and I winced pulling away from him.
âWhat?â He blinked up at me. âDid I hurt you?â
I shook my head and sucked in some quick breathes to get through the pain. âItâs okay. Itâs nothing.â
He didnât believe me, I could see the flicker in his eyes but I distracted him by leaning in to kiss him again. It worked. I felt his hands on my back, roaming from my shoulder blades down over my buttocks where he cupped me and pushed me closer on him. I could feel his arousal through our denims and it only served to inflame me more. My whole body was trembling and I wanted him, wanted to feel him as close as I possibly could.
His lips left mine and traced hot wet kisses down my throat as I arched against him, holding onto his hair, tugging it. His hands slipped beneath my shirt, tracing over my skin and leaving me burning as if his fingertips were on fire. As if I was on fire everywhere he touched me. A sound filled the air and I realized it was me. I was panting and breathless.
âGod, Trinity,â he murmured against my throat, âwhat you do to me.â
Andi Bremner is a romance writer who is lucky enough to live by the beautiful Indian Ocean in Western Australia with her husband, three children and mad as a hatter cocker spaniel.
Andi grew up with her nose in a book and her head in the clouds. Her favourite books were the ones that transported her away to another world full of dashing heroes and damsels in distress set in far away time periods. Romance, and in particular, complicated romances soon became her favourite novels to read and write and she now writes angst ridden tales of first love with some steamy interludes thrown in as well.
On the weekends Andi can be found ferrying her children to their various after school activities or hiking and camping in the stunning Australian outdoors.
Trinity is the first story in the Moonstone Series.
Hosted by Obsessive Pimpettes Promotions