Wednesday, May 23, 2018

#Tirgearr #BookQW word is PREPARE. Excerpt from One Night in Havana #99cents

Such fun when it's Book Quote Wednesday. The word today is PREPARE.

Here is an excerpt from One Night in Havana, 99cents/99pence on Amazon this week. A New Yorker and Cuban compete for the same grant at a marine biologists' convention in Havana.

Dr. Carlos Montoya placed a five-peso coin with a brass plug on the counter and whirled it. The spinning motion mirrored a dizzying attraction going on in low parts of her belly.

Veronica Keane cleared her wayward mind and nodded toward artwork on the opposite wall. “I plan to buy a painting tonight.”

“Don’t buy anything unless the seller gives you a certificate. You’ll need one to take art from Cuba. Artists deal in euros in case you don’t have pesos.”

She’d come prepared but said, “Thanks for the info.”

His coal-black eyes widened as he gazed from her head down to the tiny straps around her ankles as if she wore high heels and nothing else. “You give off a Barbie doll image,” he replied and stood up.

“Huh?”

“Where’s Ken, anyway? Kenneth Morton. He came with you to the talks in Antarctica. Five years ago.” He grinned, and the mortification in her belly gave way to a longing which she had no business feeling toward her competitor.

“Ken and I broke up.” She hesitated for a moment. “You have a gift for remembering names. Like a salesman.”

“A person’s name is, to that person, the most important and sweetest sound. Back then I introduced myself to Ken in the men’s room.”

“I remember now. Didn’t you give a talk on a specialized pigment in the octopus?”

“Ahh, si.” He splayed his fingers over his chest. “A pigment in their blood is—”

 “—called hemocyanin. Turns their blood blue and helps them survive subfreezing temperatures. Were you awarded something?”

“The antifreeze protein grant? No. It went to a deep-diving photographer. He wasn’t chicken about getting lost or trapped under the ice.”

She slid from her stool and strutted around, jutting her chin in and out like a chicken. “Bock, bock, bock, bock, bock, begowwwwk.”

He chuckled. “Cute chicken dance. Very cute in that skimpy black dress.”

Her cheeks heated, and she clutched her necklace. He’d seen plenty of women in body-fitting attire. In Cuba, women wore dresses to meetings. If she'd harnessed sexier mojo, she’d have livened up presentations. Her presentations with an abundance of dull data went south. She slid back against her stool and clutched her purse to her stomach as if the small satin bag could calm the nerves playing deep down kickball. She belonged in her tidy New York office filled with computers, modems, and research manuals. Not in this softly lit café where passion oozed from a man’s pores, and artists displayed their canvases. Here was where Havana’s trendsetters congregated, and Ernest Hemingway wrote about desire.

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

#Tirgearr #CityNights #99cents on Amazon-- you've got a passport! Would you enjoy 24 hours in Havana?

One Night in Havana is at the special price of 99cents/99pence on Amazons this week. Tirgearr Publishing's City Nights series where readers have a passport to erotic romance all around the world.


Two marine biologists, an independent woman from New York and a Cuban college professor, compete for the same grant. They've met before, but this time they're forced into conversation when her cruise ship serves as a drug cartel.  His protective instincts lead to sizzle.  Will these star-crossed lovers find a way to see each other again or will they leave their hearts in Havana?

One Night in Havana—description:

A desperate competition and sizzling attraction leads to dangerous desire.

New York Marine biologist Veronica “Roni” Keane is attending the Havana Bay Conference in Cuba. Tomorrow only one grant will be awarded which will provide the winner with professional recognition, resources for a project, and living expenses for two years. She hopes to continue her deceased father’s work, but smooth operator, Carlos Montoya, has won many grants in the past.

Carlos, a freelancer for the Havana Port Authority, works to help protect Havana’s reputation as a bastion of safety. As international travelers flock to the island, attracted by its 1950’s time-warp and colonial architecture, the drug business is running rampant, particularly on Roni’s cruise ship. Something’s not right, and when her scuba tanks are tampered with, Carlos brings in the military police to investigate. For her safety, he keeps her close, but he craves her body.

Their attraction leads to a fun night with a bit of kink. But Roni finds herself in more trouble than she bargained for when the criminals blame her for alerting the military police and come looking for her. Can Roni trust Carlos to protect her? Will she stay in Havana if Carlos wins the coveted grant, or kiss her lover goodbye?





Excerpt-- Chapter One



“Why, Veronica Keane.” A voice heavy with a Spanish accent drawled from behind her. “A dive bar?” A taunting tsk. “What do we have? A slumming New Yorker?”

She stiffened and closed her eyes. She knew that voice and its owner, Dr. Carlos Montoya, a finalist like her, competing for the same damn grant at the biggest Cephalopoda conference of the decade. Her heart pitter-pattered against her ribs. To turn toward him would intimate distress, or worse yet, weakness. She wouldn’t fail to win this grant, not when she was a final contender. “I like this funky little place.” Sia Macario Café, smack in the center of Havana, allowed her to observe locals and their daily lives.

“You need to eat with all the mojitos you’ve downed.” The big tease wasn’t  counting. This was her first drink, but his rumbling, sexy timbre hinted at all kinds of dark, hot promises. She’d rubbed shoulders with the Cuban scientist all week. This splendid specimen of Latin male brought on a physical ache that punched low.

A flare-up stirred fear. For her own good, she needed to resist. “I ordered camarones enchiladas.” By now she knew the menu on the chalkboard by heart. She tipped her head back to whiff grilled shrimp soon to arrive in sofrito sauce with fried sweet plantains.

“The flan is good. Just like my abuela makes.”

“I bet. Your grandmother would be happy to hear that,” she said, knowing he brought out the best in most people. Two days ago he'd invited her and a handful of others scuba diving. The chance to ogle him had been one of the perks. He’d worn nothing but swim trunks, his bare chest on display. Every glistening muscle was finely etched. Not a drop of fat on him. Since he’d not given her the time of day, she’d checked him out without him noticing.

The hard-bodied host had led the way toward habitats of soft-bodied creatures. To find where invertebrates lived was never an easy task. Octopuses squeezed into narrow passages of coral for protection and gave females a place to keep their eggs. She’d discovered the remains of a few meals nearby.  Octopuses scattered rocks and shells to help them hide.

 This grant meant so much to her and no doubt to him as well. Veronica mindlessly toyed with the gold necklace around her neck, but anxiety crackled through her brain. Unlike this man of action, she lacked the flamboyant personality necessary to talk people into things. Carlos had that ability. He'd made friends with judges on board while she’d conversed with an older woman about a box of scones made with Cuban vanilla cream.

That day the wind had picked up to a gale force, and this woman named Bela with Lucille Ball red hair needed help walking to her home. The half mile down the seaside promenade, The Malecón, had provided her with time to practice her Spanish. Turned out Bela was Carlos’s grandmother. She’d worked as a maid when the Castro government came to power. When private homes were nationalized, titles were handed over to the dwelling occupants. Bela owned a crumbling home in the respected Verdado district and rented out rooms.

What Veronica detested about Carlos was his abnormal level of talent for schmoozing. Not that he wasn't charismatic; he drew her like a powerful magnet with emotions hard to untangle. Why was a self-assured woman who ran her own life thinking about a man who commanded everyone around him?

She inhaled a breath and turned around on the barstool, caught fast by a gut punch of Carlos Montoya in the flesh. She sighed and surrendered to the tendrils of want sliding up between her thighs.

Tall and muscular, his lush dark hair curled to his collar giving him a wild, roguish appearance. His face was lean and chiseled. His mouth full and tempting. His eyes the smoky-gray of a grass fire and fringed with black lashes as dense as paintbrushes. He smiled. A faint hint of mockery curved his mouth, a sensual mouth she imagined to be either inviting or cruel. Or both at the same time when he leaned over a woman with a diamond-hard gleam in his dark eyes while she drowned with pleasure. She fought a fierce desire to run her hand across his broad chest, tip her face upward, and…

His breath tickled her face.

Not going there. She blinked and forced her mind to focus. Carlos Montoya was not the kind of man you lost focus around. But that image of putting her mouth full on his and peeling away his shirt once introduced in her mind was impossible to expunge. Pointless even to try.

He was an intimidating blend of intellect and sexy danger. Both qualities had her leaning back against the bar’s edge. If it weren’t for him, she’d have a chance at winning the grant.

His lips twitched. “You’re staying on one of the cruise ships, am I right?” He rolled up the sleeves of his linen jacket to reveal a dusting of manly hair.

”Yes." Her cabin served as her hotel room while attending the January meetings with perfect high-seventies temperatures. His eyes locked with hers. She willed herself to move and yet she remained seated, clutching heat between her legs, a wetness so intense that her breath stalled in her chest while her heart hammered faster. Soon she’d return to freezing New York City.

“So, Bonita, give.” He slid onto the bar stool next to her. “What brings you down from a lofty ship to grace us lowly Cubans with your presence?”

Bonita. Pretty lady was not an endearment coming from the mouth curved in a taunting smile, but not a slight either. Not with his deep, melodic voice speaking words as if he knew secrets about her. What secrets did he know? Would he pry into her personal life? She doubted this bad-boy college professor acknowledged boundaries.

“Just drinks and dinner.” She scrambled for composure. “Aren’t we attending a world-class conference? I find the local population to be friendly and kind. That’s not slumming.”

The bartender set down a saoco. “Hope you like it, senorita.”

“Gracias,” she said. “Very nice, served in a coconut.”

“Ah, the saoco,” Carlos said. “Rum, lime juice, sugar, and ice. The saoco,” he repeated, disbelief heavy in his words. “Um. Wow. Once used as a tonic for prisoners of the revolution.”

“Medicinal?” She couldn’t help it. She chuckled and sounded as if a rusty spoon had scraped her throat raw, but it was genuine. The warm glow in its wake was welcome and needed. .

He leaned an elbow on the bar, his beer bottle with the green-and-red Cristal label dangling between his fingers. “Be careful with that one.” He dipped his head toward the front door as if he needed to go somewhere soon.

That fast, the glow snuffed out. She cleared her throat and gripped the fuzzy surface of the coconut container.

He placed a five-peso coin with a brass plug on the counter and whirled it. The spinning motion mirrored a dizzying attraction going on in low parts of her belly.

She cleared her wayward mind and nodded toward artwork on the opposite wall. “I plan to buy a painting tonight.”

“Don’t buy anything unless the seller gives you a certificate. You’ll need one to take art from Cuba. Artists deal in euros in case you don’t have pesos.”

She’d come prepared but said, “Thanks for the info.”

His coal-black eyes widened as he gazed from her head down to the tiny straps around her ankles as if she wore high heels and nothing else. “You give off a Barbie doll image,” he replied and stood up.

“Huh?”

“Where’s Ken, anyway? Kenneth Morton. He came with you to the talks in Antarctica. Five years ago.” He grinned, and the mortification in her belly gave way to a longing which she had no business feeling toward her competitor.

“Ken and I broke up.” She hesitated for a moment. “You have a gift for remembering names. Like a salesman.”

“A person’s name is, to that person, the most important and sweetest sound. Back then I introduced myself to Ken in the men’s room.”

“I remember now. Didn’t you give a talk on a specialized pigment in the octopus?”

“Ahh, si.” He splayed his fingers over his chest. “A pigment in their blood is—”

 “—called hemocyanin. Turns their blood blue and helps them survive subfreezing temperatures. Were you awarded something?”

“The antifreeze protein grant? No. It went to a deep-diving photographer. He wasn’t chicken about getting lost or trapped under the ice.”

Saturday, May 19, 2018

#ContemporaryRomance #99cents Irish heart in Maine EMBRACEABLE YOU spotlight from bestselling Mary Tate Engels @marytateengels


Please welcome super talent, Mary Tate Engels, to my virtual hangout. Mary is everywhere on the web, but to name a few, you'll find her in these places:

Website: www.marytateengels.com  Always check my website for What's Happening, Sales and more!

FB:    https://facebook.com/marytateengels  author   


Today my spotlight in on her book, Embraceable You, a full-length novel at 99 cents just for you today!




EMBRACEABLE YOU, Book 2 – How Sienna saved that Amazing Lace, the Lacy Ladies, the entire town of Haven's Point – and herself. But can she save the love of her life?




EMBRACEABLE YOU, Book 2 – Contemporary Romance with an Irish heart

Jobless and jilted, Siena makes waves in Haven's Point, Maine from the moment she arrives. From the nude manikin in her shop window to the topless fashion show, Siena rocks their boat. But do her good intentions ruin her chance at romance?




Zach, Siena's first love, is now town mayor. His plans for saving the town are to bulldoze and rebuild. He and Siena clash on almost every solution for the vintage village. But in each other's arms, old flames ignite. Will his anger over the past destroy their fragile love?

Claire is only one of the town's quirky constituents. She dishes out wit and wisdom, along with a few myths about some magical handmade lace that she brought from Ireland many years ago. But when the Amazing Lace Lingerie Salon website goes viral and new businesses flourish, will anyone doubt possible magical powers?



BIO

Mary Tate Engels, best-selling author of more than 35 books, is a novelist, editor, and teacher. Her novels have been described as having "strong, sassy heroines, heroes to fall in love with, and fascinating settings." Whether in her Irish Hearts Series or her Romancing the West Series, she engages readers with stories about chasing dreams and finding love. She lives in Arizona with her husband and two black cats. They play golf and travel extensively.

Friday, May 18, 2018

Spotlight on #Tirgearr author Andi Ramos @andiramosauthor and her #humorous #mystery Gumshoe Girl

Please meet talented author Andi Ramos and stay tuned for a spotlight on Gumshoe Girl. 
Andi Ramos grew up in central Massachusetts where she still lives today with her family, goat, and Boston Terriers. Her love for reading grew into a passion for writing. She dabbled with pen and paper for a long time and eventually stopped pushing her amusements aside and started developing those stories into novels. One of her favorite things to do is to hop into her motorhome with her family and write while traveling down the road as they journey to various destinations.



Book Blurb:
Sheagan O’Hare got more than she bargained for when her newly inherited detective agency lands its first case; a missing person, embezzlement, and murder. Sheagan’s out to prove she can hang with the pros, despite the constant reminder of her amateur status from an annoyingly attractive FBI agent, Colin 'Mac' MacEvine, who’s forced himself into her life.

How does she feel when an old high school friend hopes to ignite a new romance?

Will she be able to discover if detective work and love can mingle before someone gets hurt?



Book Excerpt:
Sheagan blinked back the sting in her eyes as sweat drizzled from her forehead. Her shoulders and forearms cried out as determination inched her body forward through the tin walls that framed her slender figure. The narrow shaft rendered her legs useless as they dragged behind her like dead weight. She made a vow to start working out as she approached her destination, the metal grate that looked down into the sweetheart suite of the Eliot Hotel.
She shimmied her binoculars out of her bag and clutched them in her sweaty palms as she readied herself to delve into the world of private investigating. The friction of her movements caused her mahogany mane to cling to all the surfaces of her temporary confinement. Perched behind the filigree frame, peering like a caged animal, she was a mere 20 feet from her target. Her target? The Rat Bastard, who up until this very moment she’d called boyfriend.

She wasn’t there to kill him, even though the thought had crossed her mind; no, she was there to catch him in the act. She suspected he had been cheating on her for some time, so proof would end her suspicion or the relationship. Spying on her significant other through an air-vent of a swanky hotel room was hardly a promising start to her so-called glamorous career as a private detective. But it snapped her back into the reality that her new chosen profession would often be messy and difficult.

She peered through the grate and envied the spacious room below, but her viewing angle was no good for the task at hand. She could feel the heat in her cheeks rise along with her anger as she scanned the room and soaked in the extravagance–the hardw
ood tables, the Italian marble fireplace, the opulent sheen of the fabric on the overstuffed furniture that glimmered in the soft candlelight. The Rat Bastard was not known to overindulge on frivolous expenses, unless it was on her dime. Thoughts of killing him resurfaced.

What is wrong with me? Why did I wait so long?

She immediately regretted the fleeting question. She knew why. The answer brought back the pain and significance of her father’s sudden death. He had been the only family she had left, and he was gone. All that was left behind was his detective agency. She had thought about giv
ing it up, but she couldn’t; it was her only connection to him, to her family.

She closed her eyes briefly, realizing that now she was facing more loss–even if he was a lying, cheating Rat Bastard.

No! It’s better this way, stay focused.

She choked in a breath and turned her attention back to the room. His secret love nest was finished with soothing tones on the walls and thick, plush carpeting.

What is that on the end table?

Her gaze was drawn to the bottle label as it bobbed upside down in the melting ice. She sharpened the focus of her binoculars, and her eyes widened in recognitio
n.

Her cheeks flushed. Cristal, she scoffed. Who is this Bimbo, anyway?

As if she had room to criticize this girl’s intelligence, when Sheagan was the one sweating her makeup off in a four-by-four-foot air-duct.

Yeah, who’s the stupid one?

She heard passionate sounds coming from the right of the room and recognized his tone. Leaning sideways, Sheagan pressed her face to the grate, but her limited view revealed only a portion of the bed and unable to make out major details, like faces.

Crap, I can’t see anything. Damn! She needed to get a better look

As she shifted her weight, the metal walls started to reverberate and Sheagan stifled a gasp, willing the rumbling to cease. Her breathing became labo
red as the musty air stole the aroma of the sweet perfume wafting up waft from the suite below. She stilled her movements and did the only thing she could think of… nothing. Nothing but stare at the heap of blankets and wait.

Come on, bimbo, come up for air. I know he do
esn’t last that long.

Her discomfort increased as the noise from their passion became more intense.

Ugh, that’s it, I’ve had it!

She mashed her cheek and upper body against the grate.

I just need a peek to confirm.

She pressed harder, ogling the bed. Finally, she caught a tiny glimpse.

Just a little further.

She pushed and heard a chirring sound, then a scraping. She froze in place, but the grate gave way with a creaking groan and crashed to th
e ground. Time stood still as Sheagan realized there was nothing between her and the floor except air.




Thursday, May 17, 2018

#Romance #newrelease Spotlight on Vanessa M. Knight @Vanessamknight and the prequel to her Busted series, Busting In.

Please meet romance author Vanessa M. Knight. Today I turn my spotlight on Busting In.



Jessi Xu needs money and lots of it if she’s going to move into her very own rat-free apartment in Chicago. She’s done the math. It’ll take seven months, two weeks, and six days for her to earn that kind of cash. You’d be counting the days too if your mother was a newly-minted life coach intent on coaching the living right out of your life.
Somehow, all her drama fades into the background once she meets the gorgeous and exciting Enzo. Between his smile and the body and that laugh? He’s bringing fun back, despite her mother’s best efforts.
Hotshot lawyer Lorenzo Borelli lost one case—one—and suddenly everything that’s important to him is on the line. His only goal now is preserving his career. No distractions. Then he asks Jessi to be his pretend-date for an off-the-books undercover assignment, and she makes him question what’s really important.
In a single night, both their worlds are turned upside when they are held at gunpoint, abducted, and left stranded in a cemetery. If they survive the night, they just might manage to save his career and gain Jessi her independence. But the clock is ticking…
Busting In is the first standalone book in this humorous series of romantic suspense novels. If you like a good mystery and gripping romance— all while laughing at crazy antics, then you’ll love Vanessa M. Knight’s delightfully fun series. 


Bio:Vanessa M. Knight has always enjoyed writing, and once she found romance, she was addicted. She props her laptop in the suburbs of Chicago with her husband, son and menagerie of four-pawed claw-babies (AKA cats and dogs.) That laptop has partnered-in-crime to write contemporary romances with a dash of humor and splash of snark.
When she has a few moments to spare, you can find her singing off-key (but she assures everyone it’s still considered singing), reading, kickboxing or killing a few brain cells as she stares at the many sitcoms and dramas available through the Internet and TV. 
For more information on Vanessa, including her Internet haunts, contest updates, and details on her upcoming novels, please visit her website at www.vanessamknight.com.

Twitter handle: 
Vanessamknight


Vanessa M. Knight

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

#BookQW is lift #Tirgearr #RomanticSuspense Who was this innocent ex-con back when she was incarcerated? Fight scene shows it all!

Book Quote Wednesday's word is LIFT.  Who was Tori Morningstar before her release from prison for a murder she didn't commit?  She was a fighter and worked the heavy bag to protect herself in the yard-- from Unholy Alliance:  25% off today on Amazon.

Excerpt, Tori in prison:

Tori blocked her next punch with her forearm. The blow stung.

Big B. gritted her teeth, let out a groan.

“You’re an animal, Bertha.”

The hefty gal lifted a leg, but Tori dodged her sloppy kick. While Bertha’s balance tipped, she rushed forward and forced her elbow up at her face.

Her opponent pulled her head back just in time, and her elbow only grazed her chin. Bertha punched her in the ribs, and she stumbled to the side, recovering her breath. Tori spotted the opening but opted against a punch to the face. She watched. Bertha’s hands were high, and she guarded her nose and cheeks, leaving her stomach and ribs exposed. Their eyes met for a second.

Tori aimed an uppercut low, this time below the bellybutton. Her fist forced a heavy breath from B’s mouth, so loud she felt air against her ear. B gasped, and Tori sweep-kicked her legs out from under her. Big Bertha thumped on the ground, sending dust into the air. Tori pulled her foot back and kicked as hard as she could at her ribs.

Ebony, her sparring partner, clapped in approval.

Bertha curled into a ball to protect her side, and Tori kicked her again, but when she had her foot aimed for her face, she pulled it back. “I’m done, Bertha.”

Red Moll looked edgy, like dynamite ready to blow, and kicked her in the face. Blood sprung from Bertha’s nose, and Tori whiffed copper. Another inmate kicked her in the chest.

Ebony clamped a hand on Tori’s shoulder. “Let’s split.”

Behind them, Bertha groaned. Tori heard a gurgling in her throat and glanced at her cellmate.

Ebony’s eyes were thoughtful, slightly tilted. “Are you okay?”

Tori wiped the sweat from her forehead. “I’m fine. Don’t feel guilty for what I did.” She said it again, this time for herself. “Hard to believe Bertha’s friends jumped in. Against her.”

“They kick anyone who’s down.”



 [S-E1]give the character one name through out.  Also, the names are overused here

Tuesday, May 15, 2018

Spotlight on toe-curling #newrelease #eroticromance Naval Maneuvers by Dee S. Knight @DeeSKnight -- Stop by and read an excerpt!


Please welcome talented author, Dee Knight, and her book, Naval Maneuvers!
Available in eBook and paperback.


Blurb:

Men and women of the armed forces experience desire and love pretty much like everyone else. Except, well, there is that uniform. And the hard-to-resist attraction of "duty, honor, service" as a man might apply them to a woman's pleasure. All things considered, romance among the military is a pretty sexy, compelling force for which you'd better be armed, whether weighing anchor and moving forward into desire, dropping anchor and staying put for passion, or setting a course for renewed love with anchor home.



Excerpt:



She cleared her throat. Finally concentrating on the map he held she asked, "Where are we again?" Jeez. The thing had to have every trail in the area on it. Even with this map, she’d be just as lost.



He studied the paper for a few seconds and then folded it so he could use one hand to hold it. With the other he pointed. "We're here. I'd say if you head back west about a mile and then turn north you'll run right into the campground." Sure enough, right under his finger was a mark for Paradise Valley Campground. "About four miles should do it."



"Four miles?"



"Done in?" He smiled and in the dappled sunlight his eyes twinkled and his straight teeth seemed blindingly white. He was good looking enough to be a model. An underwear model. Yeah, her mind's eye pictured him in only underwear. She licked her lips.



Unfortunately, in her current state—more hair pulled loose from her ponytail than still in it, Redskins ball cap half on, half off, scratches on her arms and legs, and probably smears of grime from where she'd wiped sweat off her face—she must look more like a reject from Deliverance.



"I've been out since about ten and I'm not used to these mountains. I usually do my running on flat ground."



"Did you have plenty of water with you and something to eat?"



"Water, yes. But only a cup of trail mix."



He raised his brows until the right brow disappeared under the shock of hair on his forehead. "Where do you normally run?"



"Around D.C."



"Ah. Where there's a coffee shop every few blocks."



Just because she was lost was no friggin’ cause for him to patronize her. "I normally run ten to fifteen miles a day with nary a coffee break. This is just my first time here, and I'm not quite used to the ups and downs."



"They do call them 'mountains.'"



And they do call them assholes. Shocks of sexual electricity and hyper-attraction did not excuse a man from being a dick. "You're right. So right. Thanks for the help. I'll be on my way now." After consulting her compass once more she started west, the thought of four miles draining what was left of her energy. But she could do it. Four miles was nothing. Nothing. She did more than that every day of the week.



A branch knocked the cap off her head just as a vine caught her leg and she fell, sliding on her butt into a shallow ravine. Her hair clung to her neck and face. She pulled strands out of her mouth, off her forehead and back behind her ears. When had she last been this hot, sweaty, and just plain exhausted? Maintains one, Carie zero.



Leaves rustled behind her and over her head. "You can make the four miles," he called down to her. "I don't have any doubts about it. Or you can walk half a mile to the road and I'll drive you."



Half a mile? There's a friggin' road half a mile away? Why didn't he point that out on his little Boy Scout map?

Sighing, she dragged herself to her feet and started up the five yards of hillside that looked more like a mountain. When she was close to the top, he extended his hand. She took it and another spark sizzled up her arm, across her shoulder, and zipped south. Good God! He was like a sexual magnetic pole. If she pointed her compass at him, the needle would snap right to S-E-X.



Bio:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex. Writing was so much fun Dee decided to keep at it. That's how she spends her days. Her nights? Well, she's lucky that her dream man, childhood sweetheart, and long-time hubby are all the same guy, and nights are their secret. For romance ranging from sweet to historical, contemporary to paranormal and more join Dee on Nomad Authors: htpps://nomadauthors.com.

Twitter:

@DeeSKnight