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EXCERPT REVEAL ~ Love On The Edge Of Time by Julie A. Richman
Love on the Edge of Time, an all-new stand-alone story about a love
too great to be bound by time, from Julie A. Richman is coming November 13th!
Love on the Edge of Time
by Julie A. Richman
Publishing Date: November 13th, 2017
He likes whiskey and wild women
She likes Ben & Jerry’s
He’s about to get kicked out of his own band
She ate her way off the Miss America pageant circuit
What could these two possibly have in common?
A psychiatrist
A lot of unresolved issues
A whole bunch of shared lifetimes
And a love that is never-ending
As bad boy rocker, Jesse Winslow, and former pageant queen, Kylie Martin, each fight the demons screwing up their lives, the one person who holds the key to healing their ills and reuniting two souls that have searched for one another, lifetime after lifetime, is the only one who knows the whole truth.
And keeping that truth from them may just be in preeminent psychiatrist Dr. Claire Stoddard’s best interests.
Claire has committed the ultimate sin in the medical world. She’s fallen for the one man she’s forbidden to love.
Her patient, Jesse Winslow.
And she’s not about to lose him to Kylie Martin… Again.
Excerpt:
I’m at a table in the back-right corner, he texted.
In a cab a few blocks away. See you in 5.
Kylie was running a few minutes late, not rudely late, just fashionably late. She had pulled nearly everything she owned out of her closet, trying to find something that was flattering, yet rock-star cool and ‘Yeah, I know his ex is a top model’. ‘So What’ chic was the look she was trying to pull off. It wasn’t easy. With the recent weight loss, she was between sizes. Her big girl clothes, as she was now referring to them, looked like misshapen potato sacks on her and her pageant days’ wardrobe were nowhere near an option yet, and might not ever be.
She made the decision. It’s New York, seriously, just pick something black. And so black it was. Black legging jeans, black high boots, a thin, black, cashmere V-neck sweater, all topped with a black leather jacket. Twisting her hair, she clipped it up, then pulled a few strands out to frame her face and a few at the base of her neckline. It was messy and sexy.
Standing in front of the mirror, she wondered for whom she was dressing. Jesse? Well, yeah, you don’t want to be seen with a rock star looking like a beast on parade. The paparazzi? Same logic applied as for Jesse. The skinny model ex-girlfriend? Well, not really for her, but for everyone who would make a comparison. For herself? C’mon, he’s Jesse Fucking Winslow. Get real.
As she made her way to the back of the darkened restaurant, Kylie could feel her spine straighten, shoulders fall back, chin up. The only thing missing was the sash as she gracefully floated past tables, the male occupants covertly attempting to sneak an appreciative look without alerting their female companions.
I’ve still got it.
And her confidence soared as she sat down in the chair next to one of the sexiest, most recognizable men on the planet, and he had watched every man in the restaurant check her out.
“You look gorgeous, Toots.”
“Thank you.” It was still surreal that she was sitting here with her new buddy.
“I’m going to have to fight half the guys in the restaurant off you.”
Laughing, “I doubt that.” Kylie rolled her eyes.
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About the Author:
I must’ve been 5 or 6 when I started writing “stories”. I would write them and hide them.
Not wanting anyone to see my “secret” thoughts. I needed to write – even back then. Now I’m just not hiding them anymore. Is that a sign of maturity? Nah…
Writer, photographer, insatiable wanderluster, edge-player, foodie, music addict, pop culture fanatic, animal lover, warrior for the rights of people and planet, and avid cusser (am a Native
New Yorker, so very little offends me…and if I am offended, it must be pretty freaking bad..like
bad grammar!)
I am a big believer in signs and if we keep ourselves open, there are guideposts all along the way. Stay humble. Be true. Be you.
Life is not a dress rehearsal…
Connect with Julie:
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Twitter: https://twitter.com/JulieARichman
Website: http://juliearichman.com/
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RELEASE BLITZ – A Christmas Cowboy Hero by Donna Grant
Get in the spirit of Christmas with this brand new, Stand-alone romance from Donna Grant!
EXCERPT
ABOUT DONNA GRANT
Donna Grant is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the sizzling Dark King series featuring dragons, immortal Highlanders, and the Fae.
She was born and raised in Texas but loves to travel. Her adventures have taken her throughout the United States as well as to Jamaica, Mexico, and Scotland. Growing up on the Texas/Louisiana border, Donna’s Cajun side of the family taught her the “spicy” side of life while her Texas roots gave her two-steppin’ and bareback riding.
Despite deadlines and voracious reading, Donna still manages to keep up with her two children, four cats, and one long haired Chihuahua.
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EXCERPT REVEAL ~ A Little Too Fast by Staci Hart
A Little Too Late, an all-new romantic standalone
from Staci Hart is coming October 24th!
A Little Too Late
by Staci Hart
Publishing Date: October 24th, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance
I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with the nanny.
When my wife left, she took the illusion of happiness with her, and I’ve been caught in a free fall ever since. For nine long months, I’ve been fighting to figure out how to be a single dad, how to be alone.
For nine long months, I’ve been failing.
When Hannah walked through the door, I took my first breath since I’d found myself on my own. She slipped into our lives effortlessly, showing me what I’ve been missing all these years. Because Hannah made me smile when I thought I’d packed the notion of happiness away with my wedding album.
She was only supposed to be the nanny, but she’s so much more.
The day my wife left should have been the worst day of my life, but it wasn’t. It was when Hannah walked away, taking my heart with her.
Excerpt:
Hannah
The first time I saw Charlie Parker, I didn’t see one thing at a time; I saw all of him. It was an assault on my senses, an overwhelming tide of awareness, and for a moment, the details came to me in flashes over what was probably only a few seconds but felt so much longer.
His hair was blond and gently mussed, his face long and nose elegant. I could smell him, clean and fresh with just a touch of spice I couldn’t place. I tipped my chin up—he was tall, taller than me, and I hovered just at six feet—and met his eyes, earthy and brown and so deep. So very deep.
And then he smiled.
He was handsome when he wasn’t smiling. He was stunning when he was.
I was so lost in that smile, I didn’t register the flying gob until it whapped against my sweater. Tiny splatters of something cold speckled my neck.
This was the moment the clock started again, and the sweet serenity slipped directly into chaos.
A blond little boy looked up at me from his father’s side with a devilish gleam in his dark eyes. The spoon in his hand was covered in blood-red jam and aimed at me like an empty catapult.
Several things happened at once. Charlie’s face morphed into embarrassed frustration as he reached for who I presumed to be his son. The boy—Sam, I guessed from the names I’d been given by the agency—spun around lightning fast and took off down the hallway, giggling. Another child began to cry from somewhere back in the house, and a bowl clattered to the ground, followed by a hissed swear from what sounded like an older woman.
I glanced down at the sliding, sticky mess against my white sweater and started to laugh.
Charlie’s head swiveled back to me, his face first colored with confusion, then in horror as he looked at the Pollock painting on my sweater.
“Oh my God,” he breathed, his apologetic, wide eyes dragging down my body. “Jesus, I am so sorry.”
I was still laughing, almost a little hysterical. I couldn’t even tell you why.
I waved a hand at Charlie, and he took my elbow, guiding me into the house as I caught my breath. Another crash came from the kitchen, and a little girl came toddling out into the entry, leaving powdery footprints on the hardwood.
Charlie’s face screwed up. “Sam!” he called, stretching the word, a drawn-out promise of consequences.
A riot of giggling broke out in the kitchen.
We both snapped into motion. I followed him as he scooped up his crying daughter and stormed toward the kitchen. The little girl watched me over his shoulder with big brown eyes, her breath hitching in little shudders and her small finger hooked in her mouth.
Charlie stopped so abruptly, I almost ran into him.
When I looked around him and into the kitchen, my mouth opened. I covered it with my fingers as laughter bubbled up my throat.
A bag of flour sat in the middle of the floor, the white powder thrown in bursts against the surrounding surfaces and hanging in the air like smoke. The floor next to the bag was the only clean spot, shaped like a small bottom—the little girl’s, I supposed. A bowl lay upside down, its contents oozing from under the rim and slung in a ring from ceiling to cabinet to floor, as if it had completed a masterful flip on its way to its demise. And in the center of the madness stood an older woman with flour in her dark hair and dusted down the front of her. Clutched under her arm was a wriggling Sam, offending spoon still in hand.
Her face was kind but tight with exasperation. “Please tell me this is the new nanny,” she said flatly.
“I doubt we could convince her to stay at this point,” he said with equal flatness.
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About the Author
Staci has been a lot of things up to this point in her life — a graphic designer, an entrepreneur, a seamstress, a clothing and handbag designer, a waitress. Can’t forget that. She’s also been a mom, with three little girls who are sure to grow up to break a number of hearts. She’s been a wife, though she’s certainly not the cleanest, or the best cook. She’s also super, duper fun at a party, especially if she’s been drinking whiskey.
From roots in Houston to a seven year stint in Southern California, Staci and her family ended up settling somewhere in between and equally north, in Denver. They are new enough that snow is still magical. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, sleeping, gaming, or designing graphics.
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