GALLAGHER’S PRIDE

Book One of the Montana Gallaghers

Audiobook read by Philip Ormond

Brenna Cameron was a on a quest of discovery. Ethan Gallagher was on a quest for revenge. Together they would discover a second chance. From the Scottish Highlands to the Montana frontier, experience the first book in a series about a family in search of peace, hope, and love on a wild land.

 

GALLAGHER’S HOPE

Book Two of the Montana Gallaghers

Audiobook read by Philip Ormond

Isabelle Rousseau sought a new beginning. Gabriel Gallagher sought what he didn’t know was missing. Together they would discover hope in unlikely places. Return to the beloved town of Briarwood with this frontier romance about second chances and finding love in the face of overwhelming odds.

GALLAGHER’S CHOICE

Book Three of the Montana Gallaghers

Audiobook read by Kathryn Fields

Ramsey Hunter finally had a family to call his own. Eliza Gallagher now knew what it meant to risk it all. Together they had a chance to find peace at last. Danger, adventure, and heartwarming romance will sweep you away in Gallagher’s Choice, the unforgettable third book in MK McClintock’s Montana Gallagher series.

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Praise for the Montana Gallagher series

“The Montana Gallagher Collection is adventurous and romantic with scenes that transport you into the wild west.” – InD’Tale Magazine

“This series is spell-binding. Once you start it you cannot put it down.” -Jacqueline Clark, Amazon Reviewer (on the Montana Gallaghers)

I could not put this book down. It is a riveting book, from beginning to the end. The book is filled with adventure and big surprises. -Kelly from Kelly’s Thoughts on Things (on Gallagher’s Pride)

Ms.McClintock chisels out characters that root themselves deep in your heart, where they’ll stay forever more. It’s rich in historic detail and keeps you captivated til the last page. -Molly at Reviews by Molly (on Gallagher’s Pride)

“MK has written a book that grabs the reader’s attention and refuses to let go.” -Suzie at The Bunny’s Review (on Gallagher’s Hope)

“A good story can have a little bit of romance, a little bit of adventure, and a little bit of mystery all rolled up into one. Ms. McClintock’s Gallagher’s Hope delivers all that and more.” -Rebecca at A Book Lover’s Library (on Gallagher’s Hope)

“I couldn’t have asked for a better ending to the Gallagher’s story. The Gallagher family has warmed my heart, and they have become like a second family. Ms. McClintock kept the action stampeding at an all time high in the conclusion of the Gallagher’s story.” -Rose Harness, Amazon Reviewer (on Gallagher’s Choice)

 

About the Author

MK McClintock spins tales of romance, mystery, and adventure inspired by the heather-covered hills of Scotland and the majestic mountains of home. With her heart deeply rooted in the past and her mind always on adventure, she lives and writes in Montana.
-2014 RONE Award-Nominee for “Alaina Claiborne”

-Crowned Heart for Excellence from InD’Tale Magazine for “Blackwood Crossing” and “The Montana Gallagher Collection

Want more? Visit her website for interviews, free bookmarks, a Montana photo gallery, recipes from MK’s kitchen, and more reader extras.
Genres: historical romantic westerns, historical romantic mysteries, western short stories

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$50 Amazon Gift Card or Paypal Cash

Ends 3/31/15

Open only to those who can legally enter, receive and use an Amazon.com Gift Code or Paypal Cash. Winning Entry will be verified prior to prize being awarded. No purchase necessary. You must be 18 or older to enter or have your parent enter for you. The winner will be chosen by rafflecopter and announced here as well as emailed and will have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. This giveaway is in no way associated with Facebook, Twitter, Rafflecopter or any other entity unless otherwise specified. The number of eligible entries received determines the odds of winning. Giveaway was organized by Kathy from I Am A Reader and sponsored by the author. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED BY LAW.

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 Tour Schedule for A Life of the Twentieth Century

Synopsis

A Life of the Twentieth Century is the story of Aya, who lived through the loss of her parents before the age of 3. At the age of twelve she was sent to a boarding school in Budapest, that closed after one year, because the Nazi army marched into the city.

Aya was left totally alone to face the Nazi occupation, and to experience all the horrors of the war. She faced many life threatening situations, such as prison, bombardment or even the possibility of being executed on the spot, without really comprehending the gravity of it all.

The end of the war was supposed to mean liberation, the return of hope and freedom for most people, however it didn’t happen for Aya, who was part of a youth group on her way to Palestine. The destination of this youth group was to reach Italy and the Jewish Brigade. They crossed the Alps on foot from Austria to reach Italy.

As they reached their destination Aya met a soldier from the Jewish Brigade, who was supposed to be her Hero, her Saviour, but turned out to be the devil incarnate. From day one, this soldier of the Jewish brigade took control of Aya’s life when she was only 15 years old.

After divorce, destitute and once again alone, she had no direction and almost no hope, when from deep inside her a small voice said; go back to school. It took all her courage to apply to university, where she was accepted and after 5 year was granted a B.A. and a Diploma of Teaching. She spent the rest of her life teaching, and as she contemplated her life she said to herself that if she had had all the choices in the world, she would have chosen teaching.

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About the Author

Irene Even was born in Hungary. As a child she lived through the Second World War, using false papers to survive. After the war, she immigrated to Palestine, lived in a Kibbutz, then later married and immigrated to Canada with her family. She returned to Israel to teach English and remained there for twenty-two years. Having written her memoir, A Life of the Twentieth Century, she now lives in retirement in Montreal.

 

 

 

 

 

Giveaway

One of 10 ebook copies of  A Life of the Twentieth Century or a $10 Amazon gift card / Open internationally. Ends March 21

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I will be reviewing this book in the next month or two but wanted to share it with you before then because it sounds like a fun book and I think you should pick it up and read it!

Synopsis

Three small town, middle-aged women with big town dreams open up The Pea Pod Girls’ Investigations. Gigi VanWey, the Amazon Queen, Tallulah Dewy Townz, the pint-sized rebel who can open a can of whoop ass, and Babs Rosencrantz, the Jewish Guru, had no idea how much trouble they could stir up with their first case. These extremely resourceful women are three peas in a pod who know how to get a job done.

Their first client, trophy wife and recovering-sugar-daddy-addict Cyndi Lou Montgomery, wants to find out how one minute she’s watching the Douglas County 4th of July celebration and the next, waking up in the Douglas County Prize Bull Barn in a most un-lady-like situation. Now Cyndi is being blackmailed, and given specific instructions to follow.

The Pea Pod Girls didn’t know that a home explosion, being shot at, missing evidence and unwanted help from the new town sheriff, Jackson Lee – who, by the way, is so hot you could fry an egg on his fine ass – would be part of the job.

The case comes to a head when the Pea Pod Girls set a trap for the blackmailer at the annual Midnight Madness Costume Ball.

Will the Pea Pod Girls be able to solve the mystery before the clock strikes midnight?

I asked if the authors would contribute a little something to let us know how they collaborated on this book and what brought them together.  This is what they told me:

The three of us met at work at our local juvenile center in town. Dee and Suz were there first and Mel came along a few years later. We all worked in different departments and had different duties, but we found each other through a mutual love of Halloween. From then on, our friendship grew. We went for lunch weekly and met outside of work for fun. At one of our lunch meetings, Suz mentioned that she had to go pick up a car for her daughter in San Francisco, CA. She was planning to make the trip alone, since her daughter was unavailable due to her college schedule. Suz didn’t want to drive back alone, so Dee automatically piped up and said, I’ll go with ya!” It didn’t take much coaxing to get Mel to go too.

During the planning stages of our trip you never would have known we were adult women. We secretly orchestrated our departure as if we were teenagers planning to sneak out to a kegger. We planned our trip and flew from Wenatchee to Seattle, then from Seattle to Oakland. From then on, we were going from one place to the next. We had one day to explore Frisco, the next day was spent in wine country, and then a family function. The next thing we knew, it was time to get our road trip started. We headed out from Frisco and drove to Portland, OR. On this trip back to Wenatchee, the Pea Pod Girls were born. We totally lost track of time as we started discussing how we grew up, what our dreams were and shared life experiences. One of the things we all found that we had in common was that we have never fit in with our peers. We also discovered that we were all very loyal and trust was important to us. We had no time or interest in gossip or negativity. This solidified our bond with each other and we decided we needed a name for our new-found exclusive group. Ideas were thrown around like The Green Bean Girls, The Rutabagas and The Beets. Mel came up with The Pea Pod Girls which was like an epiphany; we are three peas in a pod. It is not very often that you find friends that are like family and we do not take that for granted. We do not abuse our friendship in any way. It is very valuable to us.

On our way home, we talked about writing down all the adventures we had while on our trip. Our memories made us laugh so we thought they might make others laugh too. When we got back home, Dee gave us all Pea Pod Girl journals and asked us to write down memories of our trip in our perspective. Dee took the first step and started the story of the Pea Pod Girls Investigation Agency. When she read it to us, we loved it and thought the idea of writing was a good one. We shared ideas with each other when we met for lunch or coffee and discovered that writing was fun and we liked it. We made three goals: Write a book, publish the book, and make a movie from the book directed by Clint Eastwood.

From then on, we were bound and determined to reach our goals. We all had the same goal in mind so there was not much disagreement during the writing process. The only things we can remember disagreeing on are the use of a certain word in a sentence. Sometimes we would go back and forth again and again searching for the right word. If we didn‘t agree, we would vote and majority ruled. We are so in tuned with one another, that we would be synchronized in our thoughts and complete each other’s sentences. Writing evoked so much laughter not only from the material we wrote but from the writing process itself. We found it to be therapeutic. When we wrote, each of us were assigned a main character to establish. The characters are fictitious, but still took on some of our personality traits. We enjoy keeping our readers guessing as to “who dun it” and hope our readers can identify with our characters. When we develop a character, we try to create pictures in the reader’s mind. We want to provide a cheap vacation for the reader and we want to make them laugh and feel good after reading our book. We are happily ever after girls, damn straight!

Just thinking about it, the three of us were the most unlikely friends. Suz is from an upper class family, she is a big city girl whose Jewish background has been influential in her life. You could say she’s an intellectual. She has a Master’s Degree. She comes across as very proper and composed. She is very worldly and loves to travel. She is also very giving and kind. She has a direct connection to the universe and physical and emotional balance is important to her. She visits with psychics, has her palm and charts read, and believes in energy healers.

Mel is a small town country girl that came from a poverty-stricken family with a history of drug abuse and domestic violence. She rose above the cycle with the help of her Christian background and is a survivor. She is a high school graduate and loves learning. She is very smart and doesn’t take shit from anybody. She is not the most tactful person, but always wants the best for all in situations. She is creative and is open to new experiences and learning new things. She is silly and has a hidden diva that comes out with the Pea Pod Girls. She is a strong, spiritual woman who is down to earth and accepting of others. She loves her family and friends and would do anything for them.

Dee came from a lower middle-class, blue collar home. She grew up in an abusive environment that was compounded by alcohol abuse. She is college-educated and struggles with learning disabilities. She is super creative, almost to the point of driving herself crazy. She has notebooks full of ideas written down for future books. She is not afraid to say what needs to be said. Dee is funny, silly, and goofy but also very smart, loving, and generous. She is eccentric and ok with who she is. Dee is determined and always has a plan A…B…C…and even D when necessary. She is a dreamer that takes the steps to make her dreams happen and encourages others to do the same. She is a great communicator and cares for those around her. She is a spiritual woman who was raised Catholic. After a near death experience, her faith was brought to a deeper spiritual level.

These three, middle-aged women working full time and raising families persevered and came out from under their circumstances and proved to themselves and everyone around them that dreams do come true.

About the Authors

Melanie Donithan, Dee Middleton-Taylor, and Suzanne Curry

Mel, aka Pea Pod Girl Number One, is a forty-something mother of two. She works in the legal field in her hometown of Wenatchee, WA, and is a member of Write on the River.

Dee, aka Pea Pod Girl in the Middle, lives in Wenatchee with her husband Glenn and American Bulldog Abbee. She has a BS in Corrections and has worked in the criminal justice field for more than 28 years. She expresses her abundance of creative energy through writing mysteries, drawing, remodeling her home, sewing Pea Pod costumes, and cooking

Suz, aka Pea Pod Girl Number Three, lives with her husband Dennis in Tucson, AZ, where she enjoys watching sunsets, practicing tai chi, painting, and Skyping on a regular basis with Mel and Dee. Suz has a Master’s degree in school counseling and has worked with at-risk youth and families for the past 20 years.

The longtime friends are hard at work on Book 2 in the Pea Pod Girls Series. This is their debut novel.

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FIERCE: Sixteen Authors Of Fantasy with Mercedes Lackey

For a limited time only!

Join epic fantasy legend Mercedes Lackey and fifteen additional New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon bestselling authors on the adventure of a lifetime!

Over one million words and sixteen realms of fantasy brought together for your reading pleasure. Discover courageous characters fighting for justice and order. Journey between kingdoms of dragons and lands of anarchy as tales of magic and mayhem unfold.

Grab it today, before it’s gone!

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Find out more information about the bundle on novelbundles.com!

About the Authors and Titles

Mercedes Lackey – Moving Targets

Stuck watching over four Herald trainees on circuit, Elyn is at her wits’ end—and that’s before a town asks for help with a ghostly infestation.

Michael G. Manning – The Blacksmith’s Son

A journey to discover the secrets of his past reveals a magical heritage and embroils Mordecai in a deadly battle for the future of mankind.

K.F. Breene – Chosen

Prophecy has foretold that when war threatens the world, the Chosen will appear to help the Shadow Warriors reclaim their stolen freedom and lead them out of the Land of Mist.

Morgan Rice – A Quest of Heroes

Thorgin, an outsider and a dreamer, fights to become a warrior in an epic quest that finds him at the center of a maelstrom of royal plots and counterplots that threaten him and everyone he loves.

Michael James Ploof – Whill of Agora

When Whill learns the truth of his lineage, he sets out to face his father’s murderer, but what he learns along the way will change his life—and the realm—forever.

Daniel Arenson – Requiem’s Song

Weredragons, men call them. Monsters. Cursed ones. People who can turn into beastly reptiles. Together they will forge a nation.

Kate Sparkes – Bound

When a young woman accidentally saves the life of an enemy Sorcerer, she finds herself drawn into a world of magic that’s more beautiful, more seductive, and more dangerous than she ever imagined.

David Adams – The Pariahs

Two sellswords—a half-elf and a half-orc—find their war over before it even begins. But trouble is stirring on the home front, conflict which threatens more than just their lives.

Amy Raby – The Fire Seer
Taya must use her fire visions to investigate a series of murders, but the Coalition of Mages has partnered her with her old nemesis, the man who used to bully her when they were young.

C. Greenwood – Magic of Thieves & Betrayal of Thieves

In a province where magic is forbidden, young Ilan, born with the powerful gift of her ancestors, has only one hope for survival—concealment.

David Dalglish – The Weight of Blood

When half-bloods Harruq and Qurrah Tun pledged their lives to a death prophet, they only sought escape from their squalid beginnings. Instead, they become his greatest disciples, charged with leading his army of undead.

K.J. Colt – Bear Heart

In the savage lands of Ruxdor, young Klawdia must fight the champions of four rival clans to defend her future as the first female chieftain.

Shae Ford – Poison

A bandit girl is taken from her home and thrust into a complex world of lords and ladies, where she learns that she must kill to survive.

Endi Webb – The Maskmaker’s Apprentice

Masks of legend. Masks of power. Those who dare to wear them trifle with the old powers and risk ruin and mayhem. But a young apprentice maskmaker cannot contain his curiosity, and accidentally unleashes a deadly terror upon an unsuspecting world.

Michael Wallace – The Dark Citadel

A slave boy and a young queen lead an alliance of spies, servants, and merchants to stave off the encroaching armies of a dark wizard.

Terah Edun – Blades of Magic

As an unstoppable war breaks out, a young girl enlists in the military to unravel the secrets surrounding her father’s execution.

 

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Book Blast Giveaway

$100 Amazon Gift Card or Paypal Cash

Ends 3/15/15

Open only to those who can legally enter, receive and use an Amazon.com Gift Code or Paypal Cash. Winning Entry will be verified prior to prize being awarded. No purchase necessary. You must be 18 or older to enter or have your parent enter for you. The winner will be chosen by rafflecopter and announced here as well as emailed and will have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. This giveaway is in no way associated with Facebook, Twitter, Rafflecopter or any other entity unless otherwise specified. The number of eligible entries received determines the odds of winning. Giveaway was organized by Kathy from I Am A Reader and sponsored by the author. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED BY LAW.

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ANGELS AT THE GATE
By T. K. Thorne
Publisher:  Cappuccino Books
Publication Date:  March 5, 2015
Price:  $22.50/hardcover

Synopsis

Angels At The Gate Brings The Ancient World To Life Through The Eyes of An Extraordinary Woman

Little is known about Lot’s wife, the unnamed biblical figure who was turned into a pillar of salt as she fled the destruction of Sodom.  But for writer T.K. Thorne, just one reference was enough to ignite her imagination and form the basis for her dazzling new novel, Angels At The Gate (Cappuccino Books, March 2015). Like Noah’s Wife, Thorne’s highly praised debut, this book brings the ancient world to life through the eyes of an extraordinary woman.

Based on historical, biblical, and archaeological research, visits to the Middle East, and a large measure of creativity, Angels At The Gate is the story of Adira, destined to become Lot’s wife.  A daughter of Abram’s tribe, Adira is an impetuous young girl whose mother died in childbirth.  Secretly raised as a boy in her father’s caravan and schooled in languages and the art of negotiation, Adira rejects the looming changes of womanhood that threaten her nomadic life and independence.

But with the arrival of two mysterious strangers – Northmen rumored to be holy or possibly even “Angels” – Adira’s world unravels.  Raiders invade the caravan, and she loses everything she values most – her father, her freedom, and even the “Angels.”

Caught between her oath to her father to return to her tribe and the “proper life for a woman” and tormented by an impossible love, she abandons all she has known in a dangerous quest to seek revenge and find her kidnapped “Angel.”  Now, Adira must use the skills she learned in the caravan to survive the perils of the desert, Sodom, and her own heart.

Angels At The Gate is a story of adventure and the power of love, exploring themes about choice – the importance of asking the right questions and walking the fine edge between duty and personal freedom.

Based on a simple mention in the Bible, T.K. Thorne has developed a complex and full-bodied character in the wife of Lot, a woman both ancient and modern, who will touch readers’ hearts, and live in their memories for years to come.  As Dianne Mooney, founder of Southern Living At Home says, “For all those whose curiosity is piqued by how it might have been in the time of Sodom and Gomorrah, this is a must read!”

Praise for the book

“A masterpiece of historical research, interweaving history and theology in a re-visioning of an ancient story from a woman’s perspective. Thorne is a dazzlingly gifted writer.”
–Sue Walker, Poet Laureate of Alabama, 2003-2012

“Thorne unspools an ancient adventure with crackling undertones of our contemporary lives.  Lean, polished action sequences render a young woman’s life with both intensity and nuanced truth.”  –Dale Short, public radio commentator and author of A Shinning, Shinning Path

About the Author

T.K. Thorne’s childhood passion for storytelling deepened when she became a police officer in Birmingham, Alabama.  “It was a crash course in life and what motivated and mattered to people.” When she retired as a captain, she took on Birmingham’s business improvement district as the executive director. Both careers provide fodder for her writing, which has garnered several awards, including “Book of the Year for Historical Fiction” (ForeWord Reviews) for her debut novel Noah’s Wife. Her first non-fiction book, Last Chance for Justice, was featured on the New York Post’s “Books You Should Be Reading” list. She loves traveling, especially to research her novels, and speaking about her books and life lessons.  She writes at her mountaintop home, often with two dogs by her side and a cat on her lap.

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Title: Not Without My Father: One Woman’s 444 Mile Walk of the Natchez Trace
Author: Andra Watkins
Publisher: Word Hermit Press
Pages: 240
Genre: Memoir
Format: Paperback/Kindle

Synopsis

Can an epic adventure succeed without a hero?

Andra Watkins needed a wingman to help her become the first living person to walk the historic 444-mile Natchez Trace as the pioneers did. She planned to walk fifteen miles a day. For thirty-four days.

After striking out with everyone in her life, she was left with her disinterested eighty-year-old father. And his gas. The sleep apnea machine and self-scratching. Sharing a bathroom with a man whose gut obliterated his aim.

As Watkins trudged America’s forgotten highway, she lost herself in despair and pain. Nothing happened according to plan, and her tenuous connection to her father started to unravel. Through arguments and laughter, tears and fried chicken, they fought to rebuild their relationship before it was too late. In Not Without My Father: One Woman’s 444-Mile Walk of the Natchez Trace, Watkins invites readers to join her dysfunctional family adventure in a humorous and heartbreaking memoir that asks if one can really turn I wish I had into I’m glad I did.

Excerpt

WALK THIS WAY

Aerosmith

When Dad followed Miss Ethel to the grand entrance of Hope Farm the next morning, Alice and I tiptoed through the kitchen. I lingered at the back door, listening to Miss Ethel describe her shock at the pricelessness of the urns on her mantle. “A museum curator from New Orleans almost had a stroke when he saw magnolia branches in those things. ‘But they’re vases’ I told him. He mopped his brow with a hankie and retorted that if I ever wanted to pay cash to send a child through medical school, I could sell just one of those vases. I keep ’em up there with nothing in ’em these days. Sad.” The grandfather clock chimed the half hour. “Well, let’s move on.”

Alice cleared her throat. “Andra. We’ve got to go.”

I shut the door and tramped down the back stairs to the car. Popping the trunk, I grabbed a value-priced tub of water and hoisted it onto the bumper. “If you work the nozzle, I’ll hold my CamelBak for you to fill it.” Alice pressed the white button on the jug while I tried to keep the pouch’s opening underneath. Water trickled from the white spout, like a hose with a kink. Alice cradled the container and shook it. “What’s the matter? Why isn’t any water coming out?”

We fiddled with the nozzle to make sure it was open all the way. When that didn’t work, we peered through the clear plastic sides to spot obstructions. After numer- ous adjustments, we pressed the button to re-start the flow. Our collective machinations slowed it from a trickle to a drip.

“It’s going to take ten minutes to fill at this rate,” I fumed. “Is there something else we can do?”

We twisted the white cap on the other end of the unit. When noth- ing happened, we held either end and shook the container. I was ready to drop-kick the thing across the yard just as Alice clamped the sides with her elbows and squeezed. Water streamed into my CamelBak, a somewhat normal flow. “I can’t believe we’re two college graduates, and we can’t figure out how to make this thing work.” I laughed to mask a shudder along my insides.

What was I doing? My walk was nothing more than a mid-life lark to stave off failure.

I thought a lot about failure during my training. When my career evaporated, I barged into a local outdoor store and bought a $100 pair of Salomon sneakers on credit. I walked across bridges and wondered how to rebuild a consulting practice I didn’t enjoy. On lonely marsh pathways, I cried when I considered new beginnings. I poured frustration and despair into legs and feet and told Michael movement was changing my outlook.

Until I awoke one morning with a sore ankle. A swollen foot.

“Did you twist your ankle on a walk, Andra?” Michael lay next to me in bed and massaged puffy skin.

“No. I don’t remember doing anything to it. My ankle just looked like this when I woke up.”

Michael picked up his phone. “I’m making you an appointment with Stephen.”

Stephen Khouri. Our chiropractor. While he adjusted college sports teams, he also took mortal patients like me. I sat in his office and watched him work tanned fingers around my ankle.

“It’s dislocated. How much did you say you’re walk- ing again?”

“I’ve got to walk 444 miles in thirty-four days.” “When?”

“Less than two months from now. I start March 1.”

Stephen’s mouth dropped open. “And you started training when?” “A couple of weeks ago.”

“How many miles are you doing at a time?”

I only knew it wasn’t enough, but I pretended mental calculations. “Eight miles?”

He scratched the fuzz on his head. “Other than the ankle, you’re in great shape, Andra. You’re keeping up your yoga practice, and it shows. I want you to come in once a week, and I’ll adjust it. Really, injuries like this are pretty common among my athletes.”

“I’m not an athlete.” I shifted my 150-pound body on his table and rested my arms on my forties paunch.

“You’re walking fifteen miles a day for thirty-four days?” I nodded.

“You’re an athlete. Now, let’s take a crack at that ankle.”

I lay facedown and gritted my teeth through bone grinding on bone.

Nobody ever called me an athlete.

Except Dad.

My father made an effort to change my mind about my athletic abili- ties sometime in my sixteenth year. When Mom bought a badminton set, Dad was the only person I wanted to play. Our birdies didn’t flutter. They zoomed back and forth across the net. I stood in the Southern twilight, scratching mosquito bites, oblivious to everything but the thrill of beating my father at a game that required true athletic skill.

I always thought badminton gifted me with some coordination, but maybe Dad helped me find what already existed within myself.

I blinked into the steamy Mississippi morning. Why was I thinking about badminton when I had a book to launch? Four hundred and forty- four miles to walk?

Because walking across three states in thirty-four days required another level of grit.

Several other levels. Maybe an entire quarry.

I unfolded a map of the Natchez Trace Parkway. Its twelve sections reached the windshield when I opened it flat. Air from the vent mimicked ripples in the landscape. A bold line of highway snaked north, with eastward turns south of Jackson and near the Alabama state line. Meriwether Lewis stared at me, near the fold at the top of the third section, acknowledging my pilgrimage to his grave. An average of three days per section.

Eternity yawned before me. At the beginning of any project, I always struggled to partition it into sections. I crumpled the map and threw it in the back seat. If I finished, would anybody care enough to read my novel? “We’re here.” Alice steered us into a pull-off. We stared at two stone pillars bisected by a wooden sign.

Natchez Trace Parkway. Brown and yellow. Green and white. The beginning of everything.

“Well.” I gripped the armrest to combat dizziness. Blood bansheed through my ears. But when I looked at Alice, I smiled. One of those fake smiles, like Mom and I always used when we wanted to pretend everything was fine.

Because everything was fine. Really.

I dragged my eyes back to the window. “If you just take a couple of pictures of me in front of that sign, I can get started.”

Green eyes blurred with every heartbeat as I trudged to my first marker. Four hundred and forty-four miles was a long way to walk. Doubt gripped my insides, choked my ribcage, rebelled against air, but when I turned, I struck my usual pose: Mouth yawning open in a round O. Black pants. Gray shirt. Eyes wide. My toddler smile.

For most of my life, faces masked truth. In that instant, I wanted to take refuge in the car and drive home. Back to Michael. To failed nor- malcy. I didn’t know what I would do with my life, but

I couldn’t imagine anyone reading my words or caring about my walk. I couldn’t fathom making a wage from the written word. I could get a job at Starbucks and stop my nonsense, my draining of our household in a pursuit of a stupid dream. I—

“I think these will work.” Alice returned my phone.

For a second, I wavered between jumping and not jumping, between the first step and total flight. When I saw the trust on Alice’s face, I stood a little taller, banished doubt and took my phone. “I’m sure they will, but just in case…..” I scrolled through them. “I guess I should post one, right? Let everybody know I’ve started?”

“Yeah.” Alice waited while I played with my phone, fighting to see the world through screens when experience magnified layers. Cemented memories.

“Okay. This one. Done.” My mouth its widest. Fingers splayed. Me at my silliest.

Silence engulfed me.

Without anything to hide behind, my eyes sizzled to life. “I can’t be- lieve I’m crying.” I swiped tears as Alice pulled me close. With a hug, she whispered, “Most people would never take five weeks to just walk. Alone. Through scary, remote, even dangerous places. You’re here. You’re doing it. Don’t wish it away. Promise me you’ll savor it, okay?”

The ground blurred, a lens out-of-focus.

How many souls passed there in 10,000 years? One of them whispered.

“Get moving, girl.”

About the Author

Andra Watkins lives in Charleston, South Carolina. A non-practicing CPA, she has a degree in accounting from Francis Marion University. She’s still mad at her mother for refusing to let her major in musical theater, because her mom was convinced she’d end up starring in porn films. In addition to her writing talent, Andra is an accomplished public speaker. Her acclaimed debut novel To Live Forever: An Afterlife Journey of Meriwether Lewis was published by Word Hermit Press in 2014.

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Synopsis

IN SEARCH OF THE MEANING OF DEATH, SHE’LL FIND THE MEANING OF LIFE.

Seventeen-year-old Scarlett Blake is haunted by death. Her estranged sister has made the ultimate dramatic exit. Running away from school, joining a surfing fraternity, partying hard: that sounds like Sienna. But suicide? It makes no sense.

Following in her sister’s footsteps, Scarlett comes to the isolated cove of Twycombe, Devon, with grand plans to uncover the truth. Alone. But she hasn’t reckoned on meeting two boys who are determined to help her. Luke: the blue-eyed surfer who’ll see the real Scarlett, who’ll challenge her, who’ll save her. And Jude: the elusive drifter with a knack for turning up whenever Scarlett’s in need.

As Scarlett’s quest for the truth unravels, so too does her grip on reality as she’s always known it. Because there’s something strange going on in this little cove. A dead magpie circles the skies. A dead deer watches from the undergrowth. Hands glow with light. Warmth. Power.

What transpires is a summer of discovery. Of what it means to conquer fear. To fall in love. To choose life. To choose death.

To believe the impossible.

Excerpt

Waves everywhere, swirling, surging, seething – a raging melange of foam and salt and inky water biting at me, pulling at me, thrusting upon me a solitary invitation:

Death.

As I fought to remain on the flimsy polystyrene surfboard that seemed more bucking bronco than wave rider, I thought: That’s how easy it is – you just let go.Just release the grip on this world that in recent months had seemed so much an effort, and sink into the blue, beneath the waves, where chaos and fury turned to quiet and calm. Like she did.

Was drowning as they claim? I wondered. The easiest way to die – peaceful? How would it feel to give up all the dragging myself through the day, all the struggle to evade the aching void inside? A relief?

Another wave rose me up and slammed me down with breathtaking power. Its force stirred me. You could say a lot of things about Scarlett Blake – she’s a loner, she’s a wallflower, she’s a menace in the kitchen – but no way was ‘she’s a quitter’ on the list of character flaws.

‘Screw you!’ I shouted through the spray.

Funny, sounded like someone shouted back. But who else would be out in this tumultuous sea at six a.m. on a summer’s morning? Solitude was the entire point of hauling myself out of bed in the still-dark and picking my way down the cliff path to the beach just in time to see the horizon light up with the first burnt-orange glow of the rising sun. No one to see me make a damn fool of myself on my first surfing attempt.

‘Trying… yourself killed?’

Definitely a voice. Male. Angry.

Scanning the surroundings for the source proved difficult while lying stomach-to-board. On an upward surge I got a glimpse of the Devonshire cliffs that fringed the cove, all dark, jutting rocks topped by bushes of gorse, and then a flash of the beach. On a downward plummet there was nothing but eye-burning, throat-choking seawater.

‘Forward… next wave!’

The voice was closer now. There was an edge to it beyond the anger. Something raw.

My eyes picked out a black form between the waves. Someone on a surfboard, paddling it expertly seaward. I took one hand off the board to push sticky tendrils of hair from my eyes. Rookie mistake. Turned out holding on one-handed was impossible. The board shot upwards, out of my feeble grip, and then it was just me and Old Man Sea.

Kicking frantically, I tried to keep my head above the surface, but the waves were burying me, one after the other, only a second or two to come up for air before the next one hit. Far away now were thoughts of letting go – I was fighting furiously for life. Never in my seventeen years had I been so desperate. But my legs were tingling with effort, and I knew it was just a matter of time.

When the final wave broke me all I could think was, Sienna. With her name on my lips I inhaled a lungful of water and I sank…

… for all of a second before something grabbed the back of my t-shirt and hauled me upward. Coughing and spluttering, I emerged from the blue and was pulled roughly onto a board, my leg shoved over so that I straddled it. I had the fleeting thought that this board was much sleeker and more substantial looking than the one I’d just lost before my rescuer settled pretty much on top of me and started paddling toward the shore.

If you like this book, book 2 has just come out called Forget Me Not

 

About the Author

Once upon a time a little girl told her grandmother that when she grew up she wanted to be a writer. Or a lollipop lady. Or a fairy princess fireman. ‘Write, Megan,’ her grandmother advised. So that’s what she did.

Thirty-odd years later, Megan writes the kinds of books she loves to read: young-adult paranormal romance fiction. Young adult, because it’s the time of life that most embodies freedom and discovery and first love. Paranormal, because she’s always believed that there are more things in heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy. And romance, because she’s a misty-eyed dreamer who lives for those ‘life is so breathtakingly beautiful’ moments.

Megan grew up in the Royal County, a hop, skip and a (very long) jump from Windsor Castle, but these days she makes her home in Robin Hood’s county, Nottingham. She lives with her husband, a proud Scot who occasionally kicks back in a kilt; her son, a budding artist with the soul of a paleontologist; and her baby daughter, a keen pan-and-spoon drummer who sings in her sleep. When she’s not writing, you’ll find her walking someplace green, reading by the fire, or creating carnage in the kitchen as she pursues her impossible dream: of baking something edible.

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Title: Terror Never Sleeps
Book 2: Jack Gunn Thriller Series

Author: Richard Blomberg
Publisher: Beaver’s Pond Press
Publication Date: February 15, 2015
Pages: 337
ISBN: 978-1592988952
Genre: Military Thriller / Suspense
Format: Paperback, eBook (.mobi / Kindle), PDF

Synopsis

Navy SEAL Jack Gunn’s life is turned upside down when terrorists kidnap his family and disappear without a trace. While Jack and his team search frantically for clues in Virginia, half-way around the world, his wife, Nina struggles to survive the terrorist’s daily persecutions as his hostage.

Terror Never Sleeps is an action-packed tale of Nina’s transformation into a warrior who is fighting for her life, and Jack’s relentless pursuit of the terrorists from Mali to Diego Garcia to Pakistan. A military coup, propaganda, dirty bombs, and the launch of Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal with one target—Israel—is all part of the terrorist’s master plan, who are hellbent on blowing the world back to the eighth century. The non-stop action keeps the reader constantly off balance with the bizarre and unexpected.

 

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Dawley Corners, VA

“I’m scared, Mommy.” Barett sat back up in bed, clutching his dinosaur pillow under one arm and his frayed security blanket under the other.

“Don’t cry, honey. Daddy will be home tomorrow.” Nina brushed her son’s tears aside with her fingers, cupped his tender face in her hands, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. She inhaled the scent of baby shampoo from his tangled wet hair and snuggled him to her chest. Barett’s Mickey Mouse night-light cast a buttery glow across the carpet. A constellation of

fluorescent stars and planets were already glued to the ceiling of his brand-new bedroom and floating like luminous jellyfish in the dark above.

“But what if the bad guys kill Daddy?” Barett chewed on the fringe of his blanket.

“Nobody’s going to kill Daddy,” Nina quickly answered for the umpteenth time as she stroked his black hair. Barett nodded, locked on Nina’s eyes. She closed the bedtime storybook and put it back on the nightstand.

Barett’s lower lip quivered. “What if you die, Mommy? I heard you and Daddy talking.” He started crying again.

Nina gasped. “You don’t need to worry anymore, sweetie. Mommy’s cancer is all gone.” She crossed her hands across her chest and threw them up into the air. “Poof! And Daddy is a brave Sioux, just like you.” She poked Barett in the chest. “If the president of the United States trusts Daddy to protect his country, I don’t think we need to worry.”

Sorrow instantly overwhelmed Nina, sad that Barett’s last thoughts before falling asleep were to fear for his mommy’s and daddy’s lives—even though Nina frequently cried herself to sleep with those same fears. Barett, Nina’s angel throughout her chemotherapy, reached up and brushed her tears away with his baby-soft fingers as he had done so many times before.

If Jack was Nina’s soul mate, Barett was her heart mate. Nina’s first pregnancy ended horribly with a devastating and unexpected miscarrage. Her second ended the same way. So after nine months of living on the jittery edge of sanity, wondering what would go wrong the third time around, Barett was her gift from God who miraculously joined the world on Nina’s twentysixth

birthday. She loved her little bear more than anything. She loved Barett more than Jack.

Trying to stay strong and keep up a good front for Barett while Jack was away, Nina snatched the dreamcatcher hanging from a tack in the wall above Barett’s pillow and fanned his face with its eagle feathers as if she were trying to start a fire.

“Remember, Uncle Travis had a very special medicine man make this to protect you from bad dreams.” She tickled his chest until he giggled.

“He’s funny.”

“Now go to sleep, honey. Daddy will be home tomorrow.” She leaned over and gave him one last kiss.

Nina left his door half open, just how Barett liked, and went downstairs to lock up for the night. Everything in their condominium smelled fresh and new. The paint on the walls, the polish on the floors, and the carpet on the stairs. It was their first home and their first mortgage. Nina smiled, thinking of her husband, Jack, and how he had gone over the top to buy the most

expensive door and window locks.

Being a Navy SEAL and the head of the Counterterrorism Task Force (CTF) made it nearly impossible for Jack Gunn to trust anyone. The only people he trusted were the other SEALs on his Ghost Team and Native Americans, like Nina and him.

“I’m not going to be a prisoner in my own home, Jack. Spend all the money on locks and guns and whatever else you think we need, but take a look around. We’re not living in Afghanistan.” Nina had opened the blind so Jack could look out and see their front yard of new sod, their one-inch elm sapling held vertical by three posts and gardening wire, and the empty lots across the street staked out for new construction. No one else had even moved into their

building yet. They had first pick in the new ocean-view community in Dawley Corners, south of Virginia Beach.

“This is what I’ve always wanted, Jack,” Nina had told him. “I know it’s not Montana, but there’s no place I’d rather be.”

“The perimeter is secure,” she could almost hear Jack saying.

Her smile vanished as she pulled back a corner of the curtain and watched a windowless panel van slowly cruise past their condo. It was the type of hammer-and-nail-laden van construction crews drove through their neighborhood on a daily basis, but not after dark at nine thirty on a Saturday night.

There was something about the van that sent a shiver up her spine as it crawled around the cul-de-sac and came back. She let the sheer curtain fall back into place and watched the headlights. They stopped at the end of Nina’s driveway. With a growl of the engine, smoke puffed from the tail pipe into the chilled air. Now hiding behind the front door, she began to hyperventilate as she fought off the suffocating feeling of panic.

Nina felt guilty for cowering like a scared little girl. She knew if Jack were home, he would have put one of his patented kill looks on his face, stomped out the front door, and challenged the guys in the truck. He did stuff like that all the time. Most of the time, the other guys took off before he got close enough to do any harm; he looked that intimidating. Far from being politically correct, Jack was the man who backed down to nobody. Who feared nobody. Who suspected everybody.

Nina swallowed hard, checked the lock, and glanced up the stairs to make sure Barett was still in bed. Fingers trembling, she fumbled to get her cell phone out of her pocket to call Jack, but dropped it. Pieces of plastic and glass blasted in every direction, like a grenade exploding in the dark, when it hit the porcelain tile.

“Oh my God!” she gasped. That was her only phone. The van still rumbled in the street, not moving. She made out the silhouette of a stocking-capped, bearded man in the passenger seat. Her brain swelled like an expanding water balloon between her ears.

“Think, dammit. Think.” She heard Jack’s words reverberating in her head. It was late Saturday night, her phone was trashed, their home Internet was not scheduled to be activated until Monday, which had not been a big deal because her smartphone functioned as a mobile hot spot for her laptop. All that had changed the instant her phone crashed.

Her feet felt as if they were stuck in cement, nailing her to the floor behind the door.

“The gun. I’ve got to get the gun.”

She looked through the curtain at the van one last time, then stumbled up the stairs, went into their bedroom closet, and turned on the light. The gun safe still had the manufacturer’s stickers on the anodized steel door.

She dialed three numbers stuck in her head. Nothing. She tried again. Nothing. The combination to the safe lay splayed across the entryway floor downstairs in a worthless cell phone microchip.

A noise outside spooked her. Her fingers trembled on the dial.

She tried the lock one last time and prayed. “Hallelujah!” The door opened. She grabbed the loaded shotgun. Jack always said it was the best gun for home protection. Point the scattergun in the general direction of your target and pull the trigger. It would blow a hole in the door the size of a basketball.

Nina had pulled the trigger on a shotgun once before. She blasted tin cans and beer bottles with her brothers back at the reservation garbage dump in Montana when she was a kid. The gun kicked like a mule and knocked her on her butt. It seemed funny at the time.

She flipped the safety off, racked a shell into the chamber, turned off the light, and tiptoed back out of the closet. The gun went first, with Nina’s slippery finger on the trigger. Her eyes dilated to adjust back to the dark.

The condo was too new. Nothing looked familiar. Every shadow, every noise made her jump. The furnace kicked in. The bedroom curtain fluttered over the heat duct. She heard a noise in the hallway. Nina opened the door with the gun barrel.

“Mommy.”

“Barett. Oh my God. I almost . . .” She covered her mouth, overcome by a sudden wave of nausea. Nina swallowed hard to push the bile back down as she propped the gun up against the wall behind the door, out of Barett’s sight. She grabbed Barett, hugged him hard, and carried him back to his room. “Stay in bed, honey. Mommy will be right back.”

Nina snatched the gun with her shaking, sweaty hands and quickly crept back down the carpeted stairs, trying her best to keep quiet.

The front door was still locked. The van was gone. She held the shotgun against her chest and fixed her eyes on the doorknob, dreading movement of any kind. Her heart raced as she waited in the dark.

The wind blew. The furnace kicked off. The doorknob did nothing.

She turned on the entryway light and scraped together all the pieces of her phone.

I can’t call the police. The phone lines are down till Monday. I can’t call or text Jack. He’ll be pissed. It was probably nothing. No need to get all worked up. Just go to bed. Get a new cell phone in the morning before Jack gets home. And put that stupid gun away before you shoot someone.

Discuss this book in our PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads by clicking HERE

About the Author

Dr. Richard Blomberg has practiced anesthesia in the land of 10,000 lakes for twenty years. He grew up in an Iowa farm town, the oldest of ten, before serving as a Navy hospital corpsman during the Vietnam War. For generations, Richard’s family has proudly served in the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines. He is a graduate of the University of Iowa and currently lives in the Twin Cities with his wife and family, where he is working on his next Jack Gunn thriller.

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Title:                           Love Reality
Series:                         The Donavans, #2
Author:                       Nana Malone
Release Date:             March 2, 2015
Genre:                         Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

A romantic who believes in love…

Walking love disaster, Mia Donovan, is a reality television production assistant by day, secret dating blogger, Lonely Girl, by night.  All she has to do to get the job of a lifetime is face her fears and step in front of the camera. Unfortunately that also means dating her nemesis, Single Guy, for the entire world to see.

A cynic giving love advice…

Reluctant, dating columnists, Ryan Matthews, otherwise known as Single Guy, thinks reality-dating shows are soul-sucking endeavors that have more to do with selling unrealistic expectations than love. But for a shot at writing serious stories, he’s willing to go undercover on Love Reality to do an exposé on the dating competition. What he doesn’t count on, is falling in love.

   iBooks

Excerpt

His lips were soft at first, gliding over hers, and Mia drew in a shuddering breath.

Wow. As soon as she granted him entry, the kiss changed from teasing and testing to desperate and needy. Ryan slid his tongue over hers expertly, and she moaned at the contact.

One hand caressed her face while the other slid over her nape and into her hair. He tasted like mint and rum and sugar, and Mia couldn’t get enough. When she wound her hands around his neck, he growled low in his throat, shifting his hand from her face to the small of her back and pressing her closer.

Through his jeans, she could feel every throbbing pulse of his erection as it pressed into her. His fingers tightened in her hair, and heat pooled in her center. She wanted him. Needed his hands on her. Needed to be close to him.

In the distant recesses of her brain, she heard the clanging of warning bells. But she could ignore them. She would ignore them.

They were bumped by a passerby, and Ryan cradled her, steadying her on her feet. He drew back and dragged in a breath. “You pack a hell of a punch, Mia.”

“Says the guy who should probably make a career out of kissing girls.” She started to smile, but there was something so familiar about what he’d said before that had her frowning.

“Somehow, I don’t think frowning is what I was going for.”

Her eyes widened. “No. Oh God. You are good. At that. Great. Fantastic. You should be a professional kisser.” She nodded awkwardly. “I’m going to stop talk—” It finally occurred to her what was wrong. Right before he kissed her, he’d said something that sounded familiar. But no, it wasn’t just familiar. It was like she’d heard the exact phrasing before. Verbatim. “What did you say before you kissed me?”

He nuzzled her nose with his. “I was trying to get you to agree to see me again. Why?”

She shook her head. “No, uh, you said you couldn’t let the night end without kissing me.'”

“Something like that. Now, if you’d let me get a word in edgewise, I’ll do it again.”

Her memory jogged, something else came to mind. Right before they’d left Prohibition, he’d asked her to hold something then taken her hand. It was cute and funny, but that too was familiar. Too familiar. At the salsa club, he’d stayed close, had his hands all over her, introduced her to the owner, made it seem like the place was his second home. The mojitos had flowed and they’d left seemingly without paying. He would either settle up later or they had his credit card on file for things like that. As a dating tactic, it was killer. And just now what he’d said…

Matthew Rhode’s column. Ryan was a writer.

Oh hell.

She eyed him. “I just want to know how much of tonight was sincere and how much is for your column?”

He blinked twice, then his gaze cleared, and he slowly released her. “You read my column?”

Her stomach knotted. “Yeah, I do.” She nodded. “And I have had the distinct pleasure of more than one bad date quote your particular brand of bullshit to me.” She rubbed at her temples. “I should have known this was too perfect to be real.”

He shook his head. “Look. Yes, I do write the column, but I’m not faking this.”

He was good. His words carried a certain level of sincerity that made her want to believe him. “Okay. Then tell me, how many women have you taken to that salsa club? How many times have you used that hand-holding trick? Or just answer this, how many times have you used that exact line in the last month?”

“Shit, I’m not thinking about it. It sort of just fell off my tongue, I—”

She crossed her arms. “How many?” Her heart sank. Nothing about this was real. “Here’s a hint. Next time, try to be sincere. And I swear, if I see a hint of tonight anywhere in your column, just remember, I have six brothers.”

His mouth fell open, and he stuttered for words. When he reached for her, she backed up, turning to try to hail a cab.

“Mia. It’s not like that. Maybe I say those things in my column, but I’m not playing you. I was just having a good time.”

She whirled to face him, and her purse slipped off her shoulder, spilling all the contents. “Shit.”

He bent to help her, and she shooed away his hands. A huffy exit worked so much better when you actually had somewhere to go. Damn. How had this turned from the best date of her life to the worst in a matter of moments?

“Mia, listen to me, okay? I was having fun, and I think you were too. Just forget about the column for a minute. Do you feel this between us?”

Yes. “I don’t feel a thing. Not anymore.” Never mind that her lips still tingled. “You want me to forget about the column and the way you talk about women like we’re all desperate to lock-in a husband? For your information, you’re a sexist ass hat.”

His gaze narrowed. “Newsflash—it’s not sexist when it’s true. You want to pretend during our little date there you weren’t picturing me in a tux?”

“You are such a cocky—No, I wasn’t.” She’d been picturing him naked. But he didn’t need to know that. “You talk about dating like it’s a game and women are just elaborate pawn pieces.”

“Mia it is a game. Sometimes you get lucky and meet someone you really connect with. But mostly it’s a game.”

Glaring up at him, she felt around for the last items from her purse and shoved them inside before standing. “Spoken like a man who’s never actually been in love. You spout all this bullshit, but you don’t know what it’s like to actually care about someone. I can’t wait till it happens to you. I hope you choke on that crow.”

“And you want to tell me you’ve been in love before? Come on, it’s a load of crap.”

A flare of fury had her opening her mouth, then she snapped it shut. He’s not worth it, Mia. Keep your cool. Just get in a cab. You would not look good in prison orange. He couldn’t know about David or how he’d broken her heart. And she certainly wasn’t going to give this douche bag the satisfaction of telling him. “You don’t know anything about me.”

She whirled around and, lucky for her, a taxi was just letting someone out. She jogged up in her heels and slid in. She told herself not to do it, but she glared back at Ryan. Their eyes locked, and she ground her teeth as a hot spike of need rolled through her. This was just her stupid luck. All night she’d been on a date with her nemesis.

Like this excerpt?  Scroll down to the other blogs that will be sharing other excerpts!

About the Author

USA Today Bestselling Author Nana Malone’s love of all things romance and adventure started with a tattered romantic suspense she borrowed from her cousin on a sultry summer afternoon in Ghana at a precocious thirteen. She’s been in love with kick butt heroines ever since.

With her overactive imagination, and channeling her inner Buffy, it was only a matter a time before she started creating her own characters. Waiting for her chance at a job as a ninja assassin, Nana meantime works out her drama, passion, and sass with fictional characters every bit as sassy and kick butt as she thinks she is.

Nana is the author of twenty novels. And the books in her series have been on multiple Amazon Kindle and Barnes & Noble bestseller lists as well as the iTunes Breakout Books list and most notably the USA Today Bestseller list.

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Blog Stops

Each day a new excerpt will be featured on the blog tour, so you can follow along!

Monday, March 2, 2015 (Excerpt 1)

Ariesgrl Book Reviews * HEA Romances With A Little Kick * Peaces of Me

Tuesday, March 3, 2015 (Excerpt 2)

Becky on Books * Short and Sassy Book Blurbs * StoreyBook Reviews

Wednesday, March 4, 2015 (Excerpt 3)

Adventures in Writing * Cricket’s Chirps * Long and Short Reviews

Thursday, March 5, 2015 (Excerpt 4)

So Many Reads * The Book Review

Friday, March 6, 2015 (Excerpt 5)

ByoBook Club * Cafinated Reads * Em & M Books * Harlie’s Books

Giveaway

Nana will be giving away 15 digital copies of Come Home Again, the first book in her Donavans Series. Just fill out the Rafflecopter Giveaway to enter!
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Very Twisted Things

A Standalone Briarcrest Academy Novel #3

Author: New York Times best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills

Introductory price of $2.99 on release day for 24 hours only!

 

A beautiful violinist who lives next door…

The obsessed rock star who watches her…

And the one night she bares it all.

Synopsis

Vital Rejects front guy Sebastian Tate never imagined his YouTube music video would go viral, sky-rocketing him to acting success in Hollywood. Okay, maybe he did. After all, he’s a cocky dude who knows he’s hot-as-hell, and it was only a matter of time before his stars aligned.

But life in Tinseltown is never what it seems.

After being cheated on, Sebastian’s only rule to falling in love is simple: Keep Calm and Don’t Do It. Spying on his mysterious new neighbor with binoculars seems innocent enough, but quickly escalates into an erotic game between two very unlikely people.

Twenty-year-old Violet St. Lyons is a world-renowned violinist who’s lost her mojo on stage. She hides away in a Hollywood mansion, trying to find her way through her twisted past in order to make her future.

He’s the life of the party with girls chasing him down for his autograph. She’s the introvert with a potty mouth who doesn’t even know who he is.

When they meet, stars collide, sparks fly, and clothes come off. Yet, giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan; falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.

Welcome to Briarcrest Academy—Hollywood style—where sometimes the best things in life are VERY TWISTED THINGS.

 

Prologue

Violet

“Fairy dust is not real. This I know.” —from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

Boom!

I, Violet St. Lyons, who once believed herself the luckiest girl in the world, was born on the same day that the Violette–Sells comet was discovered. My parents, two avid stargazers, said it was a sign of how special I was and promptly named me Violet. They claimed my life had been blessed with fairy dust.

At the very least, comet residue.

I’d foolishly believed it for eighteen years, until the moment of my death.

Which was now.

Boom! Another explosion rocked the plane and metal ripped away as a section of the aircraft to my right vanished. Luggage flew through the air. People disappeared. The mom with the baby who’d sat in the aisle across from us—gone. The redheaded flight attendant who’d been collecting trash—gone. Disembodied screams echoed from the surrounding passengers as my own scream took up most of the space in my head. Air sucked at us viciously from the outside as a tornado of people banged around the space and one by one got pulled out into the swirling abyss.

I watched, helplessly transfixed, as I sat between my parents, gripping each of their hands as the plane we’d boarded six hours earlier for Dublin spiraled toward the Atlantic Ocean. I was going to die. My mother was already dead, a twisted piece of shrapnel sticking grotesquely from her chest as her head lolled around her neck. Blood had already soaked her shirt, yet I refused to let go of her hand. She’d be okay. We were always okay. We were the St. Lyons family of Manhattan, an icon of old money wealth with deep political ties. Page six of the New York Times featured pictures of us on a monthly basis. We couldn’t die on a plane.

Reality dawned as we plummeted. The yellow breathing apparatus dropped and dangled in my face, taunting me with its pointlessness. Fire and black smoke boiled in front of us where the cockpit had been, and my mind recognized that the pilots had to be dead. Just a few minutes ago, they’d come over the intercom and announced that the plane was making its descent into Dublin Airport exactly on schedule.

Then the first explosion had gone off.

Bits of debris flew around, narrowly missing me. My elderly father grabbed my hand and squeezed, his face drawn back in a horrible grimace.

Paralyzed in my seat, we spun like a drunken top, and a part of my brain noticed the sun was rising, its pink tinge lending a soft glow, catching the reflection of clouds and making them silver-lined. The rocky coast of Ireland glittered in the distance. Mocking me. We’d been headed there to celebrate my eighteenth birthday.

Just then my violin case flew past my head from the overhead compartment and crashed against the wall of the plane. Shards flew. I shuddered and wanted to vomit. God, help us. We were here because of me. Our deaths were my fault. I spared a glance at the diamond promise ring Geoff had given me before we’d left.

Would the Mayor of New York’s son go on without me?

The air was turbulent yet thin, and my chest tightened as dizziness pulled at me. I resisted. Had to stay awake. Had to be with my dad. I was younger, stronger, faster. My eyes went to the gaping hole in the plane. Had to think ahead. Plan. Water would fill up the plane on impact, ensuring we’d sink rapidly.

My fear escalated as the ocean rushed at us, its surface choppy and ominous. I took in a giant breath and braced myself. We hit at an angle, the plane a torpedo as it sliced into the sea. Daddy disappeared, ejected by the impact, and I yanked on my seat belt, unclicking it to go after him. Heart thundering, I sent a final look at my mother. I wanted to take her with me, but she was gone.

Water everywhere, bubbling and gurgling as it filled up the plane. Salt water stung my eyes. People floated by, some alive as they floundered for the opening. I kept my gaze off the dead ones. Focus. Get out. Only seconds left.

I swam from my seat and fought my way out of the large hole in the plane, lungs exploding. Burning. I’d been under too long.

Daddy! I caught a glimpse of his red shirt above me and kicked harder.

Up, up, up. Must get up. My arms moved. My legs kicked. Excruciating pain. Ignore it. Almost there. So close that I could see the daylight breaking through the water.

The hottest fire I’ve ever known lit in my chest. Scorching.

Air. Just want to breathe. Just get to the top. Please.

My body rebelled and I inhaled and swallowed water, the burn racing down my throat making it spasm as I tried to cough it out. I struggled but took in more and more, the cold liquid filling my lungs.

Dark spots filled my eyes. This was drowning.

Exhausted.

Done.

My body twitched. I grew disoriented.

I let go of the fight. My hands floated in front of me.

Oblivion.

Darkness.

No bright lights, no tunnel.

No heaven, no mother, no father.

No comets.

No fairy dust.

Chapter 1

Sebastian

Two years later

“She was music with skin.” —Sebastian Tate

I tapped my foot.

What was taking her so long?

From my backyard patio in the Hollywood Hills, I watched the odd girl next door with a pair of high-powered binoculars. She flicked on her porch lights, and a low whistle came out of me at the sexy red-as-sin robe she wore, its silky material flashing around her long legs as she moved around. Her hair was down, too.

This was new. Where were the usual yoga pants? The ponytail?

She looked like she knew someone watched, but that was impossible since our outside lights were off. Even the light from the moon hit our house at such an angle that she shouldn’t be able to see us just by glancing over. She’d need a high-powered lens to know I was here.

Usually she played facing her rose garden, but this time she walked to the right side of her patio, which faced us. Weird. But she didn’t play. She just stood there without moving. Staring toward our house. Uneasiness went over me.

What was she doing?

Could she see me?

As if it were a fragile bird, she positioned the violin under her chin and began playing, arms bent and wrist poised, making the most exquisite sounds. And I don’t mean classical like Beethoven or Mozart; I mean body-thrashing, blood-thumping, hard-as-hell music that had me rooted to the ground, like she’d slapped iron chains on me.

Dark and seductive notes rose up in the air, and I got jacked up, recognizing a Led Zeppelin song, only she’d ripped its guts out and twisted it into something electric. She pushed the bow hard, upping the tempo abruptly, her movements controlled yet wild. My pulse kicked up and my eyes lingered, taking in the slightly parted toned legs and the way her breasts bounced as she jerked her arms to manipulate the strings.

Her robe slipped off her right shoulder, exposing part of her breast. Creamy and full, it quivered, vibrating as she moved her arms. Her rosy nipple teased me, slipping in and out of the folds of the material. I pictured my mouth there, sucking, my fingers plucking, strumming her like my guitar until she begged me to—

Stop, I told myself. Whoever Violin Girl was, she didn’t deserve me lusting after her while she was pouring her heart out with music.

I zoomed in as far as the binoculars would go, watching her surrender to the music as she bent and swayed from side to side with her eyes closed, black lashes like fans on her cheeks. Every molecule in my body focused on her, hanging on to each note she pulled from her instrument.

She finished and kept her head bowed for the longest time, perhaps letting the emotion wash over her like it had me.

The entire event was surreal, yet poignant as fucking poetry.

I let out a deep breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.

Who the hell plays Stairway to Heaven with a violin? She did.

Bam! She snapped her head up, her eyes lasering in on mine, making every hair on my body stand at attention.

And then …

Standing there in the moonlight, she untied her robe and spread apart the sides ever so slightly, her movements seeming almost hesitant, as if she’d had to work herself up. Unfamiliar jealousy hit me and I panned out and checked the rest of the patio, expecting to see a lover. Whoever it was, I wanted to rip him apart piece by piece.

My gaze searched her patio, the backyard, her upstairs balcony. Nothing. No one.

She flicked her dark hair back and stroked the lapels of the robe, her fingers lingering over the lacy material. Suddenly the evening smacked of something more than just music. Her arms moved back and forth across the front, opening the robe halfway and then closing it as if she couldn’t make up her mind.

My eyes went up, trying to read her face. Still as a statue, the only movement was her mouth as it trembled, her full upper lip resting against the pouty lower one.

Violin Girl was trapped in a cage of darkness.

It still didn’t stop me from holding my breath, silently begging her to bare herself to me. She’d already laid bare her music. Part of me needed the rest of her.

She jerked the robe closed, making me groan in disappointment.

And then she did something completely crazy.

The lonely girl next door flipped me the bird.

© Ilsa Madden-Mills 2015 Very Twisted Things

 

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to dystopian and all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroines. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.

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