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Running From Dust
by Jess Whitby
Genre: Psychological Paranormal Thriller
"I could not put this book down." 5 Stars - Goodreads Reviewer
"An attention grabbing psychological thriller." 5 Stars - Goodreads Reviewer
Jude Craig is a level-headed teacher in a Yorkshire secondary school. Within a matter of days her professional and personal life is shattered by a series of strange events in her house. What starts with the sound of papers fluttering to the floor quickly escalates to her discovering that someone has been in the house whilst she is sleeping.
When Jude is driven out of her job and home she is forced to discover whether she is being haunted, stalked by a pupil, or the terrifying possibility that she is losing her mind.
Jess Whitby lives in Yorkshire, England. She studied Communication Studies at University and then went on to train and work as a Youth Worker. She now works as a Therapist in Yorkshire. When she isn't working she is busy either writing her next novel or eating her favourite food : chips and gravy!
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Dangerous Paradise
Sequel to: -- GUEST POST My Journey to Publication My journey to publication evolved over time, but it wasn’t until almost ten years ago that I became serious. I already had the equivalent of about 200,000 words on my computer, and after achieving a degree in Creative Writing from New York University, I was able to convert all those words into something worth reading. The professors at NYU gave me the tools I needed to make my dream come true, and believe me, I had a lot to learn. Punctuation, Pesky run-on sentences and the Power of show don’t tell. I still have problems with commas as my editor with gladly tell you, but overall, my writing improved greatly. (I know, I really didn’t need that adverb.) Armed with all the tools I needed, I converted those words into three books, which became my Paradise Series. I read that entering contests was an excellent way to get noticed, so I entered at least three a month and was pleasantly surprised when I became a finalist in many of them. I would highly recommend entering contests as most have agents and editors as judges and even if they don’t request your work, you will get critiques. Some of my most valuable critiques have come from contest judges. Entering contests is what brought me to Soul Mate Publishing. Cheryl Yeko was a judge, liked my work, and offered me a contract for my Paradise Series with the first, Beyond Paradise, published December 12, 2018. I have always considered reading a luxury and writing a necessity.
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Boundary
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Tides of Time
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT:
The roar of a small engine combined with slaps of water came to her above the normal “whoosh” of the waves hitting the shore. Her head snapped up. A jet ski raced along the waves, encroaching on the surfers. She stopped grabbing at her board and pushed the tangle of wet hair from her face. The rider zoomed dangerously close to Sam. Her breath caught. The tall, lean man leaning over the handlebars had a cap pulled low over his forehead. She couldn’t see his face, and long sleeves covered his skin, but she could swear she saw twists of familiar blond hair beneath the hat. It couldn’t be. Her imagination zipped to memories of her last night at the beach with Neil. How could the rider not see Sam where he sat astride his board? Panic swirled through her. “Sam!” She jumped on her board and pulled fast strokes. Sam paddled toward the shore, whipping his head around to the jet ski. Too late. She judged the distance between them, climbing to her knees to wave her arms in desperation. She had to get the rider’s attention. She screamed Sam’s name again. The jet ski edged so close she could see the plume shooting out the back as it skipped over the water. Sam paddled harder, his jaw set in a tight line. The motor blared louder. The bastard was accelerating. She’d never get to Sam in time, and he was no match for an engine. A wave swept over his head. He rolled beneath it. The spray from the jet ski arced over him as the rider banked. Her hand flew to her face. Relief poured over her. The jet ski revved again and rolled into a sharp U-turn straight for Sam. Fear shot through her, surging her elemental magic perilously close to spilling over. Thrusting one hand into the water, she shoved hard. Her mouth curved downward. She pulsed a wave between Sam and the jet ski. One to stop the danger. Power thrummed through her, and another pulse created a second wave pushing Sam toward the shore. She should stop while she still could, but the connection and clawing need rolled through her. The third push brought Sam almost even with her, a fourth wave capsized the jet ski, and a fifth tugged the menace further from his ride. She could scare him as badly as he’d terrified them. Hurt him. Pull him under, hold him there as he would do to you and yours. The same hunger she’d fought when she’d held Neil’s head below the tide tore through her. A heartbeat later, she could hear echoes of Ama teaching the first rule of magic. Ama’s sweet brown eyes filled with laughter as she sang lullabies and kissed her to sleep with whispers of, “May you harm none. I love you, mija.” The water stilled beneath her fingers, rocking her tenderly. She wouldn’t break the rule. Not again. Not for this. Yet, her elemental magic rushed through her, more thrilling than any ride on a board. The call devoured every part of her, wanting to reclaim her as its own. “Sweetheart.” Sam reached for her. “You good?” His hand brushed her waist, and the magic blazed. His fingers locked on her, and her magic blinked away to a calm, constant hum. She studied him, taking in every inch of him. “Sam?” Her voice broke, and he gathered her close. She ran her hands over his head and down to his suit, checking for any injuries. Or at least she’d meant to simply assure herself of his safety. But magic had a price. An individual toll for each user to pay. For Mina, it brought on hunger. For Delia, the power could send her into a blackout. For Cami, her magic had always craved affection, and right now, it wanted Sam. She crawled from her own board until she’d practically climbed in his lap. He fumbled for a moment but adjusted to hold her against him. She brought his head down to hers and pressed her lips against his. Her kiss marked a claim, licking and teasing until the needs of her power subsided. The demand for passion finally gave way to the catcalls and encouraging whistles from the other surfers. Cami ducked her head. Sam snickered and bit his lips, clearly savoring the taste of her there. “Surfer girls are hot.”
GIVEAWAY!
Beauregard and the Beast
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT:
Adam scrubbed both hands over his face and stifled a groan. He glanced at Bo, who sat on the floor opposite him at the stone coffee table, frowning at the workbooks spread before him. His pencil tapped in an irritated rhythm against the pages. Everything about Bo’s concentration and drive to succeed during this grueling cram session drove Adam to the brink of insanity. Not out of jealousy, even though his own abilities paled in comparison to Bo’s, but because his passion, resilience, and dedication were so goddamn sexy. Over the past month, Bo had blossomed under the stress that weighed Adam down. His excitement was palpable. It lit up the room and lifted Adam’s spirits unlike anything else. Anytime he wanted to give up, one look at Bo would ease his frustrations and remind him why he’d committed to this in the first place. Because it meant the world to Bo. “You feeling as fried as I am?” Bo’s frown deepened into a scowl. He dropped his pencil and met Adam’s stare. “Who cares how much Jack spent on his new car? And why does it matter that it was $2,400 less than five times the $5,000 selling price of his old one? What benefit does the ability to figure this out provide for my future?” Chuckling, Adam tucked his thumb under the cover of his book and flipped it closed. Getting his GED might be a dream come true for Bo, but that didn’t mean he was immune to the stress. He just handled it better than Adam because it came with a prize at the end. One that meant much more to Bo. “I’m sure they’d say all this ‘knowledge’ adds to our critical thinking skills or some shit like that.” “I don’t think my critical thinking skills have any more room to grow. I’m at capacity.” Bo moaned and let his forehead drop to the table. “I’m too old to learn high school math. My brain doesn’t work that way anymore.” The mutual teasing about the gap in their age hadn’t let up with time. In fact, as they grew more comfortable together, the razzing only increased. There was no doubt Bo’s remark had been meant as a proverbial jab to his elderly ribs. Adam stretched his leg under the table and gave Bo’s bent knee a shove with his foot. “Watch it with the ‘too old’ comments, pipsqueak. How do you think I feel? At least you’ve been helping Lulu with her homework all these years. Keeping your exposure level up. The last time I gave any of this shit a second thought, you were still in diapers.” “I was not.” Bo’s head whipped up and his eyes flashed with mock indignation. “Are you trying to say I was still wetting my pants at six years old?” A bark of laughter rose up Adam’s throat. “Your addition’s a little off there, Einstein. By your calculations, I was taking freshman math at nineteen.” “Nuh-uh. You would’ve been fourteen or fifteen. Which means I would’ve been….” Bo tapped his pencil against the thick black upper frame of his browline glasses. His head tilted as his clearly overmathed brain struggled to work out the simple equation. “If I was fifteen, you would’ve been at the terrible-two stage. As stubborn as you are, I bet your folks knew better than to try and potty train you early. So, yes, my guess is you were definitely still pissing your pants the last time I did high school algebra.” Bo’s jaw sagged. His mouth opened and closed a few times as his brows drew together. “Jeez. You really are old.” Before Adam could retort with an exaggerated show of offense, Bo shot him one of his patented belly-twisting, heart-stopping grins. Adam huffed out a calming breath to get himself under control before returning the smile. “Whataya say we call it quits a bit early tonight? We’re a month into this miserable shit. Halfway done. I’d say that calls for a celebration.” “A celebration?” Bo squinted his eyes. “I need more information before I agree to anything. You’re a man who can’t be trusted with surprises.” Adam let his wrist go limp before pointing to his chest. He popped his brows and drew back his chin in faux shock. “Who, me?” “Yes, you.” Bo glowered. “If you aren’t ruining my beautiful new clothes with sticky fake blood, you’re assaulting my ears with crappy music, or landing me on the wrong side of a grumpy bouncer. My tailbone is still bruised from that behemoth throwing me out on my backside.” Guilt pinched Adam’s stomach. He hadn’t meant for Bo to get tossed out of his favorite club the previous weekend. He was so used to waltzing through the entrance of 1 OAK at the Mirage unchecked—the velvet rope lifted and his path cleared without question—that he hadn’t considered his tagalong would warrant different treatment. “Okay, okay, fine.” Adam harrumphed. “No surprises. How about plain old dinner? We could hit up Giada for old time’s sake.” Bo slammed his workbook shut and smirked. “I’m game, but only if there’s no fake blood in my immediate future.” Adam held up his trusty three-finger Boy Scout salute. “On my honor.” “I should get my head examined for trusting a curmudgeon like you not to tell a lie.” Rolling his eyes, Bo rose to his feet. “Come on, old man. Let’s get some food.”
GIVEAWAYS!
The Body Painter
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT:
“Um, hi? I’m…eh, here for the interview?” I stepped warily toward the noise. Another curse followed by a loud thump. “I heard you the first time.” A man appeared from the darkness. A man with shaggy dark hair, five o’clock shadow, and eyes so maliciously green they masqueraded as body parts but were really well-honed weapons. A man who was bleeding from his temple, limping, and holding his elbow as if it needed reattaching. “Sorry, I didn’t know if—” I gulped as something long ago tugged in remembrance. No. It can’t be… Recognition slammed into me as forcibly as it slammed into him. I stumbled under the weight. Punched by the unbelievable. “Gil? Oh, my God. Gil!” Older. Darker. More gorgeous than he’d ever been. I fought every instinct to go to him. Did my best not to grab him, kiss him, shake him, slap him. A gust of air blasted through the warehouse as if the winds of fate woke up, felt a tug on whatever linked us together, and clapped its hands in glee, saying, ‘Yes, this will be fun. Let’s put these two back together again.’ “Olin? Fuck…it’s you.” His gaze tore over me as hungrily as mine tore over him. Time stood still. It reversed. It plopped us right back in the past where this boy had held my heart, and I’d captured his, and together we knew it would always be about us. Us. There is no more us. I stumbled toward him, desperate to be nearer despite so much pain. “I can’t believe this. What are you doing here?” “What am I? What are you?” He tripped in my direction, his face etched with lines I hadn’t seen in his youth, his body all angles and threats. As fast as he’d headed toward me, he halted as if yanked back by a rope. His face fell. His shock at seeing me morphed into hardness. I didn’t understand how he could change so much in a few short seconds. Goosebumps decorated me as coldness settled like a cloak around his shoulders. “I’ve been back in Birmingham two years. I—” I stopped talking, unable to share the secrets that followed such a statement. “I…” He closed his eyes, shutting me out as if battling something deep within him. Deliberately, he took a step back, his chin coming up, his coldness settling into ice. The silence that’d chased us in our fledgling romance returned, thick and heavy. My back prickled. My mouth turned dry. Too much distance existed between us, swelling with memory of how things had ended, why we were strangers now, and just how much heartbreak had been left behind. Along with silence came shadows, creeping over Gil’s expression, shutting down any remaining signs of his shock and gratefulness at seeing me. Heartbeat by heartbeat, he hid any sign that my visit was a welcome one. I struggled, not knowing what to say. His gaze no longer held happiness, just aching emptiness and suspicion. “How did you find me?” He didn’t give me chance to reply. “You can’t be here, Olin. You need to leave. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
GIVEAWAY!
Cross Crease
-- EXCERPT: Slamming my book closed, I heave out another huge, exasperated sigh. Ever since our first meeting four years ago, we have this unknowingly-provocative-on-Wolfe’s-part-game we play exchanging cornball pick-up lines. After Wolfe playfully teased me with one the first time I met him, I decided I wasn’t going to stand there like some star-struck little fangirl when he taunted me. So, I honed my cheese whiz pick-up line skills and gave them right back to him. “Hey, D! Guess what I’m wearing?” I quip, standing up on the blanket as he walks toward me. His wry grin morphs to a wide-eyed, shocked expression before it’s quickly replaced by his usual indifferent smug look. “W…what are you wearing?” “The smile you gave me.” I hold my arms out in a ta-da position as I deliver the corny line. “Holy shit, Pip. When did you grow tits?” He smirks while shoving his board into an upright position in the sand “Right about the time you were away at school learning to be an even bigger ass.” I tilt my head and smirk right back at him. “Real nice. You kiss your mother with that mouth?” He pulls the elastic from around his man bun and flops down on his back on the blanket next to me, stretching his arms over his head. His chest muscles ripple causing my heart muscle to undulate like a series of corduroy ocean swells. I clench my gaping mouth closed and swallow the gasp I refuse to let him hear. Ugh. The present man candy dominating my panorama is too much. As I lay on my side on the blanket facing Wolfe, my hip pressing into the soft sand, my thoughts drift to him. My body temperature soars, not from the blazing sun or the warm baked sand, and not even from the steamy sex scene I was reading. It’s the red-hot images smoldering through my mind—all the things I’d like to be doing with him, which have me panting. 
GIVEAWAY!
A Road More Traveled
-- EXCERPT: Diana woke screaming, covered in blood, and found him laying dead by her side. Her pink nightie was soaked through, sticky, and the room reeked of rust. Frozen in terror she stared at two wounds in the back of his head, each pouring blood. Her head pounded, and her vision was blurry. Was this even real? The warm, sap-substance all over her told her it was. The night before was a giant blank zone in her head, except for the gun. Had she fired it? She vaguely remembered the boom, how it shook in her hand, and acrid smell of gunpowder. A hangover from hell gripped her like a wicked vice, pressing the back of her neck and squeezing painfully. She tried to get up, tried to run, but her legs dumped her by the side of the bed instead. The blood curdling scream she expelled scared even her. Did that come from her? Scrambling in the dark for her cell phone on the nightstand, she finally grasped it and pulled it to the floor with her. Dialing 911, she barely waited for an answer before she screamed into the phone, “I’ve killed him! I’ve killed him!” “Wake up, Diana!” “No, no, no,” Diana murmured to the phantom telling her wake up, as she thrashed to and fro in the bed. He grasped her waist, pulling her toward him, and hissed in her ear again. “Wake up, please, baby, wake up!” Diana’s eyes flew open and she lay stiff in his arms. “George!” She screamed. Her hands were curled by her sides and her legs straight out, and she couldn’t move. Her chest heaved, and she felt strangled all over again, just like every time he’d wrapped his hands right around her neck. As The remnants of that night slowly subsided, she sunk back into the mattress, this soft, deep one, and realized she wasn’t home. Nor was it George beside her. “Diana,” Justin’s voice pled with her again, “Di, please talk to me. You had a nightmare.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she liked her lips and tried to control her breathing, counting to eight, holding for four, then exhaling for eight more, just like her therapist had taught her. Justin ran his hands down her arms, her waist, her thighs, and it calmed her. For the first time, her breathing slowed, and she came back to reality much faster. She finally turned on her side and looked at him, searching his face. “Justin,” she whispered.
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Title: Cowboy Up Author: Michelle Beattie
Genre: Contemporary Western Romance
Release Date: August 20, 2019
Cover Designer: The Killion Group
Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC.
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International Bestselling Author Michelle Beattie first found her love of romance in romantic comedies such as Romancing the Stone and Valley Girl (yes, she realizes that dates her). It wasn't until after high school when she worked for a car rental company and had too much time on her hands that she started reading romances. Historicals were her go-to and she raided many bookstores looking for historical western romances. Eventually she started thinking "what if" and "I'd have done that differently" and quietly started writing her own. More than a dozen books later, Michelle has published in both digital and print platforms and her works have been translated in more than 4 languages. Michelle is a mother of two very strong, independent daughters. She is a certified member of the Master Bowler's of Alberta and loves coaching and passing on her love for 5 pin bowling. Besides bowling herself in a weekly league, she also likes to golf in the summer, play games, and read. Michelle lives in a solar-powered house in Central Alberta with her husband of almost 25 years, youngest daughter, and the cutest dog ever.
    
 
Need
-- EXCERPT: Exploring her mouth lazily, he used ample time to sweep his tongue over her inner cheeks, tasting her. His faint peppermint flavor mingled with an essence belonging to him alone, fresh and inviting. Musk enhanced his subtly spicy fragrance, each scent potently masculine. She slumped against him even though she shouldn’t cave this soon or ever. This fantasy was on her terms, not his. She was no man’s plaything or afterthought and had better remember as much. With as much will as she could muster, she pushed his tongue from her mouth and turned her face away. His rough breaths skimmed her temple. He cupped her breast. Her blood thickened. Rarely had anything thrilled her as much as his confident and assured caress…perfected during his countless other conquests. That brought her back to reality fast. She twisted to break his hold on her. “Hmm.” The sound vibrated in his chest. “Still being defiant, are we?” She gave him a look. “What do you think?” He stroked her chin. Even her teeth tingled. Lightly, he brushed his lips over hers. “Not enjoying yourself?” For too long, she’d wished for this moment. GIVEAWAY!
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