Spotlight on The Interlude #Cozy #RomanticSuspense -- Meet author Barbara Baldwin!

Please meet talented Barbara Baldwin and her book, The Interlude, a cozy romantic suspense. 

Blurb:

Peter A Myerson, IV, is a successful businessman in New York city and has little time to deal with a house left to him by a great-aunt he never knew. He will simply go to New Orleans, sell the house and return to his organized and predetermined life.

That plan flies out the window when he meets CJ Fortier, the historical preservationist who is determined to finish the work she has been paid for. As different as they are, Peter is instantly drawn to her passion, and not just for her work.

In the process of remodeling they find an old diary written by his aunt with entries dating back to the 1920’s. It’s a glimpse into the past when the house was a speakeasy and brothel and it leads them to fulfilling a few fantasies of their own. But finding items referred to in the diary lead Peter and CJ into trouble as unknown people are after information only his late great-aunt would have know.

Bio:

I am an Air Force “Brat” and after moving every 2-3 years until I was 17, I still love to travel and explore new places, which usually means each of my novels is set in a different locale. I have been published in formats from poetry and short stories to full-length fiction. I also had the opportunity through my work to write and co-produce a documentary on state history which won state and national awards. I have an MA in Communication and have taught every grade from Kindergarten to college. Each year I write a Christmas story for family and friends—some heartfelt and others whimsical – and after ten years, those were complied into an anthology. I have four grandchildren so my latest story was “The Case of the Lost Socks”, written for my grandson after we tried, and failed, to match all the socks in the laundry basket. I also love to create art through fused glass and quilts. My website is http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin.

Excerpt:

Peter followed a sound toward the back of the house, giving a cursory glance to the drop cloths, paint cans and tools that were scattered about the front sitting room. Tall windows faced the front and one side, the heavy dark drapes pulled back to let in the hazy sunlight. He couldn’t help but admire the workmanship in the massive dining room, which looked to be finished. Carved molding circled the ceiling and a crystal chandelier hung centered over a mahogany table that would easily seat twelve or more. Rose colored flocked wallpaper stretched to the high ceilings above wainscoting and the hardwood floor shone with a new coat of varnish. Not his decorating choice, he thought, preferring the glass and chrome décor of his high-rise condo, but it seemed to fit the atmosphere of the old house.

“Hello,” he called as he stepped through a swinging door into the next room. A buzzing saw drowned out his voice and the man kneeling on the floor by a cupboard didn’t turn around.

“Hello!” he shouted, then reached out and tapped the man on the shoulder. An electric saw came whirling around at the level of his knees, and he jumped back just in time to keep from being sawed in half.

“Christ almighty, Mister! What do you think you’re doing sneaking up on a body like that?”

Peter was more shocked at the sight now standing before him than he had been at the thought of losing a leg.

Only as tall as his shoulder, the freckle-faced curiosity wore a ball cap turned backward over short, red hair. As Peter stood in silence waiting for his heart to calm down, she turned off the saw and put it on the floor then tugged off her earmuffs. Short jean cut-offs gave him a peek at ass cheeks before his gaze slid down lightly freckled legs to a pair of work boots. Forget his heart; other body parts instantly came to life.

He frowned, trying to understand his reaction to this...this tomboy. When she straightened and glared at him, hands on hips, his heart didn’t slow at all, but in fact, sped up dramatically. She wore a white low cut tank top that stretched tight over breasts that jutted out high and firm.

He cleared his throat. “You’re a...woman.”

Her brows lifted. “And that bothers you, how?” Her voice was deep and sultry, with the slow southern cadence that reminded him of exactly where he was.

“Well, no, the fact you’re a woman doesn’t. But you should be in a kitchen somewhere, not welding a saw.”

She glanced around. “I am in a kitchen, but you won’t find me cooking you a damned meal. What century are you from, anyway?”

“I am from New York.” He straightened to his full six foot two as he replied in his best Wall Street voice.

“Well, that explains it,” she snorted.

She picked up a rag and wiped down her arms and then her chest, Peter’s gaze following her movements. He reminded himself as to the purpose of his being here. It certainly wasn’t to ogle a menial laborer, regardless of her exotic looks and the effect she was having on his libido.

#eroticromance #contemporaryromance #amreading spotlight on Rita finalist and USA Today bestselling author, Robin Bielman @RobinBielman and her book, Talk British to Me

I'm honored today to spotlight TALK BRITISH TO ME by super talented author, Robin Bielman. With 152 4.5-star reviews, Talk British to Me is a must read. 

Blurb:

As the Dating Guy on L.A.’s top morning show, I give the single guy’s perspective on dating, love, and sex—and I give great advice. Everyone’s hooking up…well, except for me. Sure, I can get any woman I want, but I’ve got a “no relationship” clause in my contract and the only woman I want has “relationship” written all over her. Probably stamped on her ass, too. And wouldn’t I like to confirm that.

Unfortunately, she wants nothing to do with me. At all. Something about the next Ice Age might have even come up in her rebuttal. Adorable. Because she’s determined to ignore what one simple kiss proved: she wants me as badly as I want her.

Everything in me is screaming to go after her, but I’ve got a secret that I’m fairly certain will end up with her roasting my nuts over an open fire. So, job on the line? Check. Nuts on the line? Check. Can’t get her out of my head? Nail…meet coffin. But what a way to go…

Bio:

When not attached to her laptop, USA Today Bestselling Author and RITA Finalist, Robin Bielman can almost always be found with her nose in a book. A California girl, the beach is her favorite place for fun and inspiration. Her fondness for swoon-worthy heroes who flirt and stumble upon the girl they can’t live without jumpstarts most of her story ideas.

She loves to go on adventures, put her treadmill to good use while watching her favorite TV shows, take hikes with her hubby, and play sock tug of war with her cute, but sometimes naughty dog, Harry. She dreams of traveling to faraway places and loves to connect with readers. Visit her website for more info: www.robinbielman.com

#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.

#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.”

#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   

Twitter: https://twitter.com/marytateengels

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?

 http://amzn.to/1hrvUje

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?

http://amzn.to/1hrvUje

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.

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 hardwood 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 giving 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 recognition.

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 labored 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 doesn’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 the ground. Time stood still as Sheagan realized there was nothing between her and the floor except air.

E-mail: andiramos@andiramos.com

Website: www.andiramos.com/blog

Publisher Page: http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Ramos_Andi/gumshoe-girl.htm

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Gumshoe-Girl-Andi-Ramos-ebook/dp/B07CMZVJ9Z

#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

www.vanessamknight.com

#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

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

Spotlight on #Contemporary #Western #Romance excerpt from Kerrigan's Law by Debra Mullins @DebraMullins

Today I have the pleasure of spotlighting KERRIGAN'S LAW (Welcome to Burr: Book 3) by amazing writer Debra Mullins. Kerrigan's Law is also available on audio and in paperback.

Blurb: When bounty hunter J.G. Kerrigan comes to Burr, Wyoming Territory, he discovers his old back-stabbing nemesis Blade in town, trying to pass himself off as a respectable citizen. Kerrigan is determined to bring him to justice, and becoming the sheriff of the small town Blade cares about seems the best way to do it. But Kerrigan doesn't count on reverend's daughter Marianne Westerly complicating matters. Her sweet compassion threatens to bring Kerrigan's darkest secret into the light, but it turns out the lady has ghosts in her own past as well...

Debra Mullins

KERRIGAN’S LAW – October 2017

www.debramullins.com

         

Excerpt from Kerrigan's Law:

          Marianne Westerly looked up from the article she was writing as the door to the newspaper office opened. A huge man filled the doorway, a black silhouette in the glare of the afternoon sun, his shoulders spanning the width of the doorframe and his hat nearly touching the top of it.

          She reminded herself of the derringer in her reticule, of the rifle on the wall behind her, then stood, shading her eyes. “May I help you?”

          “I sure hope so.” His voice was like gravel and rust, hard-used and rough. “I’m looking for the sheriff.”

          “The sheriff resigned a few weeks back.” Marianne set down her pencil with outward calm, her pulse thundering through her veins, and gestured to the Help Wanted poster on the board near the door. “We haven’t replaced him yet. Job’s open if you’re interested.” She tried for a smile. “Would you please step inside? That sun is quite strong today.”

          “Sorry, ma’am.” He stepped fully into the office, then gave a jerk on the rope he held. Another man stumbled in, tethered at the end of the line like a mule, skinny and sullen.

          She swallowed her shock. A woman who lived on the frontier couldn’t be missish, not at the sight of a man all tied up. She dragged her gaze from the prisoner to his captor with what she hoped was calm aplomb—an aplomb that almost deserted her when she met those slate blue eyes. No one would call him handsome, not with his hard jaw and slightly crooked nose, the lines in his face that hinted at more scowling than smiling, and those thick, black brows and broad forehead.

No, not handsome, but he would never be ignored, and his stare just took a lady’s breath. Direct and unapologetic, that’s what it was. Like he knew who he was and what he could do. He was dusty and unshaven with a few days’ growth of beard, looking for all the world like an outlaw, yet her heart fluttered in her chest. She clenched her hand at her side to stop herself from pressing it to her bosom like some helpless heroine in a dime novel.

          Don’t be foolish. You’re not some green girl, Marianne. He’s just a man, not some outlaw—not if he’s looking for the sheriff.

          “Please close the door,” she said, amazed at the serenity of her tone.

He complied, kicking the portal shut and cutting off the blinding glare. Then he faced her, a single black brow raised as he slid his rifle one-handed into the holster strapped on his back. “Anything else I can do for you?”

She lifted her chin and ignored an utterly improper notion that flashed through her mind. Keep your wits, Marianne. “That will be all for now, thank you. You were asking about the sheriff?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He patted his long brown coat and came up with a crumpled piece of paper. “Here.”

She cast a wary glance at his prisoner.

He followed her gaze. “Don’t worry about him.” He jerked on the rope. “You behave in front of the lady, Addison, you hear me?”

“I hear ya,” Addison spat. “You just wait ’til my brothers come for me, Kerrigan. You just wait.”

“Yeah, I’ll wait all right.” The stranger rolled his eyes and grinned at Marianne, a lopsided quirk of the lips that transformed him from desperado to dashing in an instant.

She swallowed, her mouth completely dry at the change. “Kerrigan,” she repeated, coming around the counter to take the paper from his fingers.

“Yes, ma’am.” He tugged on his hat brim as she unfolded what proved to be a page of newspaper. “J.G. Kerrigan, at your service.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” she murmured, reading. “This is from the Chronicle. The story about that bank robbery in Timmonsville a few months back. The one the Addison gang…” She slid a glance at his prisoner. Addison. “Is he one of the bank robbers?”

“Yes. Are you Sarah Donovan?”

“What?” She met his unapologetic stare, then wished she hadn’t as her heart gave a huge thump in response. “Oh. No, I’m not Sarah. I’m Marianne Westerly.” She returned her attention to the safety of the newspaper.

“When I saw the sheriff’s office was closed, I came looking for Sarah Donovan, as she’s the one who wrote the thing,” he said. “Thought a newspaper woman could tell me who acts as the law around here.”

“As I said, she’s not here right now—”

The back door to the office opened, and Sarah appeared, stopping short at the tableau before her. “What’s this?”

Kerrigan looked over at the new speaker as Marianne turned her head to address her employer. “Sarah, this is—”

In a flash, Addison spun, jerking the rope out of Kerrigan’s grip and looping it around Marianne’s neck with his bound hands, cutting off her words. He dragged her backwards towards the front door. “You all stay put now, or I’ll snap her neck!”

“Hell.” Kerrigan yanked his rifle from its holster.

Marianne clawed at the rope, trying unsuccessfully to ease the unrelenting pressure of the thick hemp around her throat. Already it was getting harder to breathe, and the world spun a little, black dots popping in and out of her vision. She could barely make out Sarah standing in the back of the room.

A prayer hovered on her lips, but she squelched it. Is this how you mean for me to die, God? After everything you’ve put me through?

She glanced at Kerrigan. He looked furious yet in control. He would probably make this Addison fellow regret the day he was born for this little exploit.

She wondered if she would live to see it.

“Don’t be a damned fool, Joe.” Kerrigan eyed the prisoner down the length of his rifle. “Let the lady go. If you hurt her, no judge is going to let you live.”

“You put that Winchester down, Kerrigan, or she dies.” Addison tightened the rope. “And you back there—I see you inching towards that rifle, woman! You better stay put.”

Sarah froze and glanced at Marianne, her face tense.

“Let go or you die,” Kerrigan said. “If you kill her, you really think you can take a single step before I drop you?”

The rope eased just a little, and Marianne gasped a grateful breath.

“You won’t kill me,” Addison sneered.

“Don’t test me.”

“You said you need me to get my brothers,” Addison said. “You kill me, they’ll hunt you down and kill you dead.”

“See, now you’re just making a case for me to kill you right here,” Kerrigan said. “No one would blame me after you grabbed this lady, and your brothers would come out of hiding and save me the trouble of tracking them down.”

“But…no, I didn’t mean that!” Addison sputtered.

“Miss Westerly,” Kerrigan said, “please accept my apology in advance. When I shoot this bastard—excuse my language—you’re bound to get all messy with the blood and brains and whatnot.”

“What? What?” The prisoner’s voice climbed an octave.

“As much as I hate to mess up that pretty dress you’re wearing,” Kerrigan continued, indicating her pale yellow cotton, “I’m sure you would much prefer to lose a dress than your life.”

“You’re talking about her dress?” Addison shouted, spittle showering Marianne’s nape and cheek. “What about me? I’m the one whose brains are gonna be all over!”

Kerrigan’s gaze hardened. “Well, Joe, you started this whole thing by grabbing an innocent woman. How did you think it was going to end?”

“Well, I…my brothers…dang it.”

“Your brothers aren’t here,” Kerrigan said. “And like you told me, killing you will only flush them out sooner.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “So I kill you—and you’re a pain in the ass anyway with all your whining and wailing—and then the lady is safe, your brothers come out of hiding, and I get the bounty for the whole Addison gang. Good thing, too, since I’ll owe the lady a new dress. Like I said, sorry about that, ma’am,” he repeated to Marianne.

Marianne managed to nod.

“Don’t agree with him,” Addison snapped. “He’s crazy.”

“I’m crazy?” Kerrigan said. “Now, which one of us grabbed a hostage with me not two feet away and armed? You would have been smarter to go for my rifle, Joe. Then you’d be in control.”

“I am in control!”

“Oh yeah? I’ll have a bullet in your brain before you can make a move, and then Miss Westerly and I will step over your body and head down to the mercantile so she can pick out some fabric for her new dress.”

“Will you shut up about the dress?” Addison shouted.

“Well, I can’t do that, Joe. If I ruin her dress with your brains and blood, I need to replace it. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“You’re not a gentleman, you’re a goddamn bounty hunter!”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have manners.” Kerrigan gave Marianne a reassuring smile. “So Miss Westerly, what kind of fabric should we get? And what color? I imagine pink looks really pretty on you.”

Marianne held his gaze, taking comfort in the reassurance she saw there. J.G. Kerrigan would do whatever was necessary to get her out of this alive, and she would help wherever she could. “Hate pink,” she managed.

“All right then,” Kerrigan continued. “How about blue? I bet blue would bring out those gray eyes of yours.”

“Never mind the dang dress!” Addison shouted. “Here!” He freed Marianne, shoved her at Kerrigan, and darted out the door.

Kerrigan lowered his rifle and caught her with one strong arm around her waist. “You all right, Miss Westerly?”

“Yes,” Marianne rasped. She winced and fingered her throat. Surely her shortness of breath came from almost being strangled and not from being in the arms of the man who’d just saved her life.

“He’s getting away!” Sarah grabbed her rifle off the wall and charged from the back.

Kerrigan released Marianne. “He won’t get far. I’ll track him down. Don’t you worry, ma’am.”

“No need.” Sarah’s husband, Jack Donovan, appeared in the open doorway, dragging Addison along with a knife to his throat.

Kerrigan jerked up his rifle to point at Donovan. “Well, hell. Finally caught up with you, you son of a bitch.”

“Kerrigan.” Donovan shoved Joe through the door. “Long time.”