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PROMO TOUR ~ One Hell of a Romance series by Jennifer Felton

Through Life and Death & Through Love and Hate
(Prequel & Companion to One Hell of a Romance series)
 

Author: Jennifer Felton

OFFICIAL GENRE: Paranormal Romance/Mystery

 

 
THROUGH LIFE AND DEATH

PREQUEL
PUBLICATION DATE: October 15, 2015


 


THROUGH LOVE AND HATE

COMPANION
PUBLICATION DATE: October 20, 2015

 
 
 
 
 

 
 

 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 

RELEASE TOUR ~ And Night Descends by Bruce Blake

 
 
 
AND NIGHT DESCENDS
Book 3 of the Small Gods Series
AUTHOR: Bruce Blake

GENRE: Epic Fantasy

CONTENT WARNING: 18+


 

To raise the Small Gods, a Small God must die,
When stars go out, the end is nigh.
One must die to raise them all,
Should Small Gods rise, man will fall,
One can stop them, on darken’d wing,
The firstborn child of the rightful king.

 
WHEN SHADOWS FALL…THE DARKNESS COMES…AND NIGHT DESCENDS
 
The moment Teryk and Danya, the royal siblings, spoke the words inscribed on the long-forgotten scroll, they foolishly set in motion events destined to bring about the prophecy’s predictions. Teryk is the firstborn, but why do the words only make sense to his sister?
 
As they each launch themselves recklessly into a heroic mission to save mankind, it seems inevitable that key elements in this game of the gods would be drawn to one another and collide with frightful and yet-unfathomable consequences.
 
With a Small God already captured and being dragged to his death by a colossal, bloodthirsty golem, is it too late to turn back fate? Can any of them find a way to resist their destinies?
 
Intrigue in the court, an impenetrable veil between two worlds, escape, sacrifice, retribution and magic pull the strings of these puppets of destiny on a massive, creation-spanning chessboard hidden in shadow, veiled in darkness, lost in the night.

 
 
 

Prologue

Long ago, blood and anger colored his dreams red every night until the night she came to him.
 
In his sleep, steel glinted through the haze of crimson, pain flashed. A coppery scent stirred him in his bed, rank bile soured his tongue, and Trenan woke with sweat on his brow and agony tearing through him from an arm no longer there. Every time he awakened, he reached out with a phantom hand, expecting—hoping—for fingers to brush the rough wool blanket or touch his face. But they found nothing because they remained attached to an arm rotting in the bottom of a ditch with the rest of the dead.
 
“At least the rest of you isn’t down there,” Erral had said with a chuckle one day as he sat beside his bunk, struggling to articulate his appreciation.
 
Trenan thought lying in the ditch with the dead might be better than losing the arm meant to wield his sword.
 
What good is a soldier with no hand to hold his weapon?
 
The one-armed swordsman stared up at the dark ceiling, the muscles in his jaw clenched hard against the throb in his shoulder and the knot clogging his throat. Since the days of his childhood, his life had been based on what that arm could do with a sword. It performed feats others couldn’t, moved in ways and with speed beyond the abilities of but a few men. It took lives, saved lives, helped to put down a rebellion.
 
But no more. Off it came, a sacrifice to save the king from a blow meant to separate his royal head from his regal body. A more than fair trade in the kingdom’s mind, but a bitter mouthful to a master swordsman left with the wrong arm.
 
Trenan closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose, filling his lungs to capacity and using the air to squash regret from his chest. Sacrificing himself for the king was expected of him and an honor. But it wasn’t he who’d been sacrificed but his arm, with the rest of him left behind to cope without it.
 
I’d rather have died.
 
And they knew it; it was the reason his chambers were devoid of sharp weapons.
 
“Trenan?”
 
The whispered word didn’t startle him, but he was surprised by the timbre of the voice speaking it. The doctor assigned to his bedside like a hairy-chested wet nurse would return soon to touch his forehead to gauge his temperature, or give him more of the acrid herbs to hide a pain that would never leave, but the man charged with caring for him didn’t speak with a woman’s voice.
 
Trenan dragged his lids open, cocked his head. The woman perched on the chair set beside his bunk was the last person he’d have expected to find.
 
Her hair, which he’d only ever seen her wear up, hung loose past her shoulders in waves the color of honey tinted with a few drops of blood. Her eyes sparkled with the dim light of the taper flickering in the far corner of the swordsman’s chamber, worry plain in their set. Concern tilted the corners of the full lips of her exquisite mouth.
 
“My queen.”
 
Trenan scrambled to push himself up on his elbows, forgot he had but one, and tumbled onto his side on the mattress, jarring his wound. He gritted his teeth and pressed his lips together to keep from crying out, but when he found the queen’s hand upon him, he forgot the pain.
 
“Are you all right?”
 
He looked into the eyes of the young woman who’d seen the seasons turn eighteen times since her birth and once since she’d become wife to the king. The knot of despair that had choked him dissipated, the pain in his shoulder faded. He nodded.
 
“Yes, my queen.”
 
“Ishla,” she said and brushed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “You poor man.”
 
She settled back on the edge of the chair, removing her touch from his face, but the feel of it remained with him. He struggled himself up to sitting, the wool blanket falling from his bare chest as he stretched to see past the wife of his friend. Behind her, the chamber lay empty.
 
“Where is Gollard?” He looked to her face, found her still gazing at him, so diverted his eyes. “Where is the doctor?”
 
“Do you need him?”
 
She stood, took a half-step toward the door and stopped, awaiting his reply. He’d have answered at once but, when she stood, he saw she’d chosen not to wear one of the elaborate dresses he’d seen her wear every other time he’d been in her presence. Instead, she wore white bed clothes with sleeve cuffs that clung to her wrists and a hem that brushed her ankles.
 
“N…no. I’m fine, just wondering where he’d gone.”
 
Ishla clasped her hands in front of her, lowered her chin to regard her intertwined fingers.
 
“I had him called away.”
 
Trenan stared at the young woman. Now her eyes weren’t upon him, he let his gaze linger, saw that the taper burning behind her cast her outline in the fine cloth. Trenan swallowed hard.
 
“Called away? For what?”
 
She raised her head, making him slip his gaze back to her face, then gestured toward the side of the bed.
 
“May I?”
 
Trenan looked from her to the bed and back, uncertain what she meant, at first. He cleared his throat and nodded.
 
“Of course, my quee…Ishla.”
 
She alighted on the edge of the mattress close enough Trenan felt her warmth. Her perfume filled his nose—not a cologne she’d put on, but the smell of her hair, the scent of her skin. Apprehension stirred in the swordsman’s chest, excitement, confusion.
 
Why is she here?
 
“I’ve come to thank you for saving the king, Trenan.”
 
It might have surprised him that she read his thoughts, but what else might he have been thinking? Trenan shifted away, trying to quell his excited discomfort.
 
“There’s no need. The king has conveyed his appreciation with the best surgeons the kingdom can offer and his promise to take care of me as long as I need.”
 
The words were Erral’s, but this marked the first time Trenan had spoken them aloud. They tasted of vinegar on his tongue, but the queen’s sweetness was enough to overpower the bitter morsel.
 
Ishla wiggled nearer, closing the distance he’d created, her lithe body making little impression on the mattress. His eyes strayed from hers, fell to her curves beneath the bed clothes before returning to find a smile beginning on her lips.
 
“That is Erral’s way of thanking you, not mine. And I suspect his method may be more hurtful than fulfilling.”
 
She lifted a hand and touched her palm to his cheek. Trenan nearly jerked away out of sense of duty to king and kingdom but didn’t for fear of offending the queen. And because he liked the way her warm flesh felt against his.
 
Ishla moved closer and leaned in, leaving a hand’s-breadth between the tips of their noses. Her breath touched his lips, her gaze found its way inside him.
 
“It is my thanks I bring tonight.”
 
“And Gollard?”
 
“Won’t be back until morning.”
 
“Who else knows you had him called away?”
 
She shook her head. “A queen can be discreet.”
 
Trenan licked his lips, resisted the urge to close the space between them. A plethora of furtive smiles returned to his memory. From the first time he’d seen his friend’s wife—the queen of the kingdom—they’d been there, finding their way to her lips whenever their eyes met. As much as he wanted them to be for him, about him, he’d convinced himself her nature and her youth brought them forth, convinced himself the tingle-inspiring smiles and gentle blushes weren’t meant for him.
 
Now he didn’t know if he should be elated he’d been wrong, or fearful.
 
His gaze slipped form her eyes to her mouth. He imagined his lips pressing against hers, their tongues finding each other, until the king’s angry visage intruded on his thoughts.
 
“Erral—”
 
“Is your friend,” she finished for him. “And my husband, but he isn’t here. There is you and me, and no one else knows I’m here.”
 
Her hand left his face, fell to rest on his upper chest. The tight thrill swirling beneath his ribs expanded, flowing into his stomach, lower, stirring other things. Ishla held his gaze but moved no more, staring into his eyes with her lips parted, her head tilted.
 
This is wrong.
 
Trenan’s mind continued to resist even as he leaned forward and their mouths came together.
 
***
 
Ishla ran the tip of her finger along the swordsman’s breast bone, tracing a line through the cooling perspiration. The ache in Trenan’s shoulder he’d forgotten as the queen expressed her appreciation crept back as though someone pressed the tip of a stick into his wound.
 
The queen peered at him and he held her gaze. Though neither spoke, words swam through his mind—things to say, plans never to be executed, the vision of an impossible life. He thought he saw the same shining in her eyes, hidden behind a mix of nurturing care and sadness.
 
After a moment, the breathtaking young woman climbed off him, her weight lifting from his hips as another palpable one settled into his chest.
 
“I must go before I am missed,” she said, one corner of her mouth lifting in a lopsided smile.
 
She bent and retrieved her nightgown from the floor. Trenan watched as she shook it out, revelling in the way her muscles moved beneath her porcelain skin, the tremor shaking her breasts. She stretched her arms toward the ceiling and slipped her hands into the sleeves, let the nightshirt fall around her like the curtain falling at the end of a masterful play.
 
A performance Trenan never wanted to end.
 
The gown fell into place and she smoothed the front with her palms. The swordsman reached out, a jolt of pain shooting along the right side of his chest, and grasped her wrist, coaxed her back toward the bed.
 
“When will I see you again?”
 
She looked at him, the smile still on her face, but he watched the sliver of sadness in her eyes overtake it. The queen said nothing in response; she didn’t need to. He’d already known the answer before his lips spoke the words—this was a dangerous game they shouldn’t play again.
 
Dangerous, but worth the risk.
 
Ishla leaned over and put her lips to his, the passion and longing of their earlier kisses usurped by regret, mourning. The touch lingered, and he thought to grab her, pull her to him, but the moment passed and she moved away. Trenan released his hold on her wrist and watched her stride across the room to the chamber door.
 
She let herself out without a backward glance.
 
***
 
“I’ve seen the seasons pass nearly fifteen times,” Dansil mumbled under his breath as he stalked through the castle halls. “I’ll be a man soon enough; bitch can’t tell me what to do.”
 
His cheek still stung in precisely the shape of his mother’s hand, but her punishments didn’t hurt like they did in his youth. Then, they’d caused him more than physical pain; it was as though she’d struck his soul.
 
But if something gets beaten enough times, it toughens.
 
He came to a corner and slowed his pace, peeked around before continuing. Getting caught wandering the halls wouldn’t get him killed, but none of the king’s men would be impressed should they discover him. Even with the red haze of anger at his mother hanging around him, he knew better than to be careless—he’d crept these halls enough times.
 
Dansil followed the hall and went up the next staircase, avoiding the routes the guards followed when patrolling in the evening. At the top of the stairs, he paused a second time, checking both ways along the corridor. Thick carpet in a shade of deep red covered the floor in both directions; portraits of people he neither recognized nor cared to recognize lined the walls.
 
On a whim, he took a right and maintained a slow but steady pace, the muscles in his thighs tight and ready to hie him away should one of the many doors lining the hall open and a visiting noble step out. He figured none would this late at night, but better ready than caught.
 
The end of the hall intersected another; here he stopped again and found himself rewarded for his care. Halfway along the corridor, a door opened. A woman clothed in white bedclothes emerged, the wall sconces behind her illuminating the outline of her body through the cloth.
 
Dansil sucked a sharp breath at the sight and his hand darted to his groin. The woman stood for a short time, hand on the door’s handle, her head hung. Her long hair caressed her arms and shoulders, the light highlighted the shape of her breasts, the curve at the small of her back. After a moment, she raised her head, glanced along the hall away from where Dansil peered around the corner, then swivelled her head toward him. The young man faded back from the corner before she saw him, a silent curse on his lips.
 
He waited, breath held, resisting the urge to peep around the corner again. If he did, and she was walking away, the wall sconce’s light might shine between her legs, outlining the most secret of places. But if she headed toward him, he’d be discovered.
 
The whisper of footsteps padding on the rug interrupted his thought.
 
She’s coming this way.
 
No time to hurry back the way he’d come; if he tried, she’d see him, even if she didn’t turn his direction. Lips squeezed hard together, he pressed himself against the wall and hoped she’d continue straight along the corridor.
 
A moment later, she passed by and Dansil saw her face. His eyes widened and his grip on his half-swollen man thing released.
 
The queen!
 
As she hurried down the corridor, Dansil stepped out from his hiding spot to watch her go, forgetting the possibility she might glance back and see him. She didn’t and, instead of admiring the swing of her hips, the shape of her body hidden beneath the bedclothes, the young man wondered why she’d be out alone at this time of night. When she disappeared around the far corner, he peered back toward the door she’d exited.
 
The curiosity was too much for Dansil. He crept along the corridor in the direction from which the queen had come, his hand extended and fingertips dragging along the rough stone wall. Every door appeared the same as the others, but he’d noted the one from which she’d emerged: the third on the left. A moment later, he stood in front of the plain wood slab, staring at the handle. After a quick survey of the empty hall, he leaned close, pressed his ear to the door, but heard no sounds within.
 
Excited saliva filled his mouth. He swallowed hard, raised his hand and rapped his knuckles against the wood.
 
The knock garnered no immediate response so Dansil assumed the chamber empty until a man’s voice spoke a single word.
 
“Ishla?”
 
The curiosity burning in his brain tingled into his chest and along his limbs. The hand he still held raised after knocking fell to the door handle, gripped it. He didn’t recognize the voice or know who might reside within, but was aware he shouldn’t enter any room in the castle without invitation. He also knew no invitation would come if he waited for one, and he’d never discover who the door concealed.
 
Dansil set his jaw and pushed the door open.
 
A musky odor filled the air in the room, one he recognized from the occasions when his mother came home with a man and sent him off to his chambers. The furnishings were sparse and a man lay upon a bed to the left, one shoulder wrapped with a pink-tinged bandage where his arm was missing. The tender expression on his face went stony when he spied the lad.
 
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
 
“Beg your pardon, m’lord swordsman. Wrong chamber.”
 
Dansil backed out of the room and closed the door behind him, a wicked grin creeping onto his lips as he went. The door clicked shut; he hurried away along the hall lest the man rise and come after him.
 
Trenan and the queen. The king’s friend and his wife. Together.
 
He rounded the corner and hastened to the staircase, the path of his future falling into view.
 
Sometimes, one unexpected turn of events can change a boy’s life.
 
 
 
 
 


 
 

OF THE SMALL GODS SERIES
 
 
 

A hundred hundred seasons have turned since the Goddess banished the Small Gods to the sky, leaving the land to mankind alone. 

 
For Prince Teryk, life behind the castle walls is boring and uneventful until he stumbles upon an arcane scroll in a long-forgotten chamber. The parchment speaks of Small Gods, the fall of man, and the kingdom’s savior—the firstborn child of the rightful king. It’s his opportunity to prove himself to his father, the king, and assure his place in history. All he needs to do is find the man from across the sea—a man who can’t possibly exist—and save mankind. 
 
But ancient magic has been put in motion by a mysterious cult determined to see the Small Gods reborn. Powerful forces clash, uncaring for the lives of mortals in their struggle to prevent the return of the banished ones, or aid in their rebirth. 
 
Named in a prophecy or not, what chance does a cocky prince who barely understands the task laid before him stand in a battle with the gods?
 
 
 
 
 
 

When shadows fall, the darkness comes… 

 
A disgraced Goddess Mother wanders blind and alone, praying for her agony to end. When a helpful apostle finds her, could it truly be salvation, or does worse torment lie ahead? 
 
A sister struggles to understand a prophecy that may not be meant for her while her brother fights for his life. If the firstborn child of the rightful king dies, will it spell the end for everyone? 
 
Darkness and shadow creep across the land in the form of a fierce clay golem animated by its sculptor’s blood. It seeks a mythical creature whose sacrifice portends the return of ancient evil banished from the world long ago. With its return will come the fall of man. 
 
As the game unfolds, the Small Gods watch from the sky, waiting for their time to come and their chance to rise again. They wait for the fall of shadows, the coming of the darkness. 
 
They wait for night to descend.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


 
 
Bruce Blake lives on Vancouver Island in British Columbia, Canada. When pressing issues like shovelling snow and building igloos don’t take up his spare time, Bruce can be found taking the dog sled to the nearest coffee shop to work on his short stories and novels.
 
Actually, Victoria, B.C. is only a couple hours north of Seattle, Wash., where more rain is seen than snow. Since snow isn’t really a pressing issue, Bruce spends more time trying to remember to leave the “u” out of words like “colour” and “neighbour” than he does shovelling (and watch out for those pesky double l’s). The father of two, Bruce is also the trophy husband of a burlesque diva.
 
Bruce’s first short story, “Another Man’s Shoes” was published in the Winter 2008 edition of Cemetery Moon. Another short, “Yardwork,” was made into a podcast in Oct., 2011 by Pseudopod. Bruce’s first Icarus Fell novel, “On Unfaithful Wings”, was published in Dec., 2011 while the follow up, “All Who Wander Are Lost”, came out in July, 2012. The third in the series, “Secrets of the Hanged Man”, came out in July, 2013. The first part of his Khirro’s Journey epic fantasy trilogy, “Blood of the King”, was released Sept., 2012, book 2, “Spirit of the King,” in Dec., 2012, and book 3, “Heart of the King,” in Feb., 2013.
 
The two books in the Small Gods series, “When Shadows Fall” and “The Darkness Comes”, were released in 2013, after which Bruce took a year out to concentrate on his family and career. Book three in the Small Gods series is Bruce Blake’s current project.
 
     

 

RELEASE TOUR ~ Miss Demeanor Suspense Series

 

Miss Demeanor Suspense Series
 

GENRE: Mystery/Crime Contemporary Romance

Four women meet in an internet group called “Lady Cops.” All work for police departments in small towns and realize that they have no hope of being promoted over their male counterparts. They band together and buy a private investigation business in Seattle and name it “Miss Demeanor Private Detective Agency.” Follow the women on their journeys as they are thrown into the dark under belly of drugs, murder, kidnapping, counterfeiting, and all the lies and unthinkable deeds the big city draws.

 
 

 


Book One
~ P.I. ~ I Love You
 
 
Rivers don’t let rocks hold them back. 
 
River Nightingale has decided to blow past the rocky men in her life. She’s played by the rules for too long—especially when it came to her career as a cop. She was the top closer of cases for years, but promotions in her small town cop shop went to her less productive male counterparts. River’s friends, three other women cops, are also ready to change careers. Together they leave behind their small towns, become their own bosses, and purchase a Seattle private detective agency. 
 
Homicide Detective Gage Hamlin takes pride in his job; he closes cases and fosters justice. All that changed the day River Nightingale sauntered into his office. River has him questioning his pride, his cases, and his aversion to private detectives, especially beautiful private detectives. 
 

River’s client thinks Gage got it wrong, and River is forced to prove Gage missed a murder. Will River and Gage find a way to play nice, or will River be forced to leave Gage behind?

 
1st EXCERPT
 
She put her mojito down on the coffee table, and stretched out on her sofa. Laptop on her lap desk, she switched it on, sipped on her mojito, and waited for the screen to come to life. She opened her favorites and clicked on Lady Cops. Chats were in full swing as she scrolled through to see what was happening.
 
“Hey River, what no hot date tonight?” Maile asked.
 
“Not hardly, Bear Creek is lacking in the hot date department. What about you?”
 
“I do have a date, with my newly purchased novel, print copy I might add.”
 
“Now that’s pitiful—a date with a book.” River giggled. “Are Cassie and Shay on-line?”
 
“Hey, I’m bored. Please tell me one of you ladies have something juicy to share,” Shay said.
 
“Have you been following the discussion on the shipment of guns intercepted here in Arizona? Not anywhere near me, of course,” Cassie said.
 
“Guns? At least there’s action where you live,” River said. “We had a herd of mountain goats on Main Street this week—that’s what qualifies for action in Bear Creek.”
 
“It’s all about your perspective. Mountain goats walking down a street in Prescott, Arizona would be news here.” Cassie laughed.
2nd EXCERPT
 
“Ah yes, River Nightingale is one of our primary investigators. She just happens to be in the office. If you would take a seat, I’ll ask if she can see you now.” She disappeared into the next room. 
 
The receptionist returned moments later followed by a petite girl. She smiled directly at him, her blue eyes quickly tracking up and down his body. He nearly blushed. As she rounded the counter she held her hand out to him.
 
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Baxter, I’m River Nightingale. Cory tells me that Mike referred you?”
 
“Um, he did, but I understood you to be a seasoned policewoman,” Blake said. Geeze, she couldn’t be more than nineteen or twenty. Is this a joke? he wondered.
 
“Yes. I served in a police department in Montana for ten years and no, I’m not a teenager, I assure you. I happen to be in my mid-thirties.”
 
“I see. I’m sorry for my ill manners.”
 
“No worries, you’re not the first person who has thought that and certainly won’t be the last. My only hope is when I’m seventy, people will think I’m fifty.” She smiled at him again. “If you’re still interested in a P.I., I’m sure I can help you.”
 
“Yes, by all means, Ms. Nightingale.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
Joanne was born and raised in Sherburne, New York, a quaint village surrounded by dairy farms and rolling hills. From the moment she could read she wanted to explore the world. During her college years she slowly crept across the country, stopping along the way in Oklahoma, California, and finally Washington State, which she now proudly calls home. She lives with her husband and Dobermans, in their home located on the Olympic Peninsula with a panoramic view of the Olympic Mountains.
 
Joanne writes romantic suspense, paranormal, and contemporary romance. She loves to submerge herself in the world of her characters, to live and breathe their lives and marvel at their decisions and predicaments. She enjoys a wide variety of books including paranormal, suspense, thriller, and of course romance.
 
Joanne is a member of Romance Writers of America, and past President of Peninsula Romance Writers, which was Debbie Macomber’s home chapter.
 
 
 
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Book Two
~ Bare
 
 
 
 
Small town cop Shay Brooks leaves her charming safe community of Connell and moves to Seattle to open the Miss Demeanor PI Detective Agency. She’s thrown into the world of drugs, murder, and all the lies and unthinkable deeds the city draws. Renee Mills hires Shay to save her daughter. Renee believes her daughter, Beth, a straight-A student; dropped out of college to strip. Her mother blames the owner of the club and drugs. Shay goes undercover as a waitress at the club in hopes to save Beth and crack open a drug operation. An inevitable mutual attraction with the bartender, Dante Pierce, is a distraction. But is he involved in the drug operation?

 
 
“Careful with that one,” Shay said and startled her brother. She couldn’t believe how much she’d collected in four years, even after she’d sold most of her furniture. She wouldn’t need a houseful in her new apartment.
 
“This must be Grandma’s china in here,” her brother teased as he reached down for the box.
 
“My guns.”
 
Her brother rolled his eyes and laughed. “Figures. No wonder you can’t get a date.”
 
“Ha, ha, Ray the comedian. Everybody here is either married, in a relationship or old.”
 
“So you’re moving to Seattle for a man.”
 
Shay knew Ray loved to torment as most brothers did.
 
“I’m moving for a career, not for a man.” She made her point with her arms crossed. Silently she hoped that Seattle offered more choice than Connell.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Angela Ford originates from Nova Scotia…Canada’s Ocean Playground!
 
Her love of the ocean and sunsets are always in her heart and give her inspiration. Her love for words keeps her turning the page. She is never without a book, whether she’s reading or writing. Now residing in Ontario, Angela works in Finance – numbers by day – words by night. Her dedication to volunteer and involvement with cyber safety seminars gave her an Award of Distinction and sparked the idea for her first book Closure – suspense with a dash of romance that hit the best- selling Action/Adventure and Women’s Fiction. Angela continued this FBI suspense with Forbidden and will deliver the final of the series in 2015. She also writes contemporary romance, sometimes sweet…sometimes spicy and sometimes with a dash of suspense. Unforgettable Kiss delivers a spicy romance with a dash of suspense. Blind Tasting of The Love List series and The Christmas Wreath of the Forever Christmas series are sweet reads. 2015 kicked off with a new Romantic Suspense Surrender.
 
Between two jobs, being a mom with a home always filled with young adults and rather interesting stories; she is lucky to have one very patient and understanding man. But it is the furry family members who rule the house – a Puggle (Pug/Beagle), a new Chug puppy (Pug/Chihuahua) and two loveable cats. Every possible quiet moment she finds, she treasures and just writes about the moments to come. Angela is an avid reader of romance, a member of the RWA, KOD (Kiss of Death – Suspense Chapter) and Mississauga Writers Group. You can follow her at BTGN www.bookstogonow.com or visit her website/blog Romantic Escapes at http://www.angelafordauthor.com to connect with her on her social network sites. She loves to hear from her readers – they keep her smiling!
 
 
 

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Book Three
~ Choreographed Crime
 
 
 
Maile Kuhiwinui is tired of her dead end job as a police officer in Hilo, Hawai’i, so when she joins a group of lady cops on vacation and one proposes opening a detective agency in Seattle, Maile goes all in. She’s excited about the prospects Seattle offers, but after the grand opening of The Miss Demeanor Detective Agency, Maile finds herself sitting on the sidelines feeling inadequate while her three partners are hired to solve cases. 
 
Kalama Haleamau considers himself a simple guy who loves to cook. When the wahine from the Big Island starts to hang out at his Happy Hawaiian Food Truck, he figures they’d make a pretty good pair and asks her to spend time with him. 
 
When Maile finally gets her first case, she’s thrust into a world of refined deceit as she investigates the murder of a principal dancer at the Seattle Ballet. When she discovers Kalama’s murky association with the key suspects, she’s forced to separate her feelings for Kalama in order to identify the killer.
 
 
Lama whipped up a Spam loco moco. The smell of the rich brown gravy drew Maile into the kitchenette. “Thanks for showing me the skyline. It reminds me I live in a beautiful place. It’s not Hawai’i, but Seattle has its own charm.”
 
He turned from the stove and looked at her as if he adored her. On impulse, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him until her lips ached.
 
When he released her, she helped herself to a beer.
 
“I thought you didn’t want to drink and drive.” Lama looked over his shoulder as he stirred the gravy.
 
“Who’s driving?” Maile smiled and raised her eyebrows.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Jackie Marilla writes contemporary romance from the Hawaiian Islands and beyond. She and her husband live on a macadamia nut farm on the island of Hawai’i where they feed a clowder of cats and a flock of hodgepodge chickens. In a past life, she was an elementary school teacher.
 
 
 
 
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Book Four
~ Golden Ribbons
 
 
 
Cassie Holmes has made a big change. She left sunny, warm Arizona and moved to Seattle to join three friends in a new endeavor. They started Miss Demeanor Private Detective Agency. She wants to carry an umbrella, but is told by people around her that to live in the Northwest means not using the dreaded thing.
 
Her first case involves the disappearance of a fourteen year old girl, Cami Reynolds. Her mother is desperate to find the young girl and, even though she doesn’t have much money, hires Cassie for the job. The new private detective finds a dark underworld lurks under the Via-duct that runs along the Seattle Waterfront. Some kids are used, some turn to prostitution, and others find solace in drugs. 
 
In the process of her search, she meets Jack Donovan, a undercover detective connected to a Seattle drug task force. He’s six-foot-four and tries to be an imposing presence in her life. He appears to her as a homeless man, but she knows he’s a cop and as the two compare notes, discover their cases criss-cross paths. 
 
After a rocky beginning, the two begin to work side by side to take down one of the worst child prostitution rings in the Northwest.


“What’s your name?”
 
“Cassandra Holmes. You?”
 
“Miss Holmes, you might as well give up. You’re chasing a lost cause.”
 
Cassie wanted to give this guy a swift-kick. “God, Mr. Negative, who died and made you the expert? Do you work vice?”
 
“No, drug task force, and I know these streets. Your girl is probably in Bangkok by now.”
 
“She was seen here just last Friday. What do you know about Sally Skinner?” Cassie felt ready to pull her Glock out and shoot him in the foot. 
 
“Sally Skinner works for Fred and Rick Powell, two of the biggest drug traffickers in the Northwest. Fred’s hobby is prostitution—the younger the better. The guy’s sick.”
 
“One of this kid’s friends said she was being watched by some guy named Fred. I’ve heard of the Powells. I worked drugs down in Arizona…”
 
“Yeah, if those pansy-asses down in Arizona and Texas kept the doors closed to Juarez and Nogales, we wouldn’t have this situation up here.”
 
“Focus, please. Where can I find Sally Skinner?”
 
He leaned against the dumpster and stared, again. She wanted to slap him across the cheek just to wake him up.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Lauren Marie is the author of Golden Ribbons – story 4 of the Miss Demeanor Private Detective Agency series, I’m Not What You Think, Love’s Embers – book 1 of the Canon City Series, Love on Ice – book 2 of the Canon City Series, One Touch at Cob’s Bar and Grill – story 3 of the Montana Ranch Series, Love’s Touch – Then and Now, Going to Another Place and The Men of Haller Lake – Trilogy.
 
When she isn’t pounding the keys, she is an amateur paranormal investigator. She formed her own group in 2006 to hunt ghosts and some unusual experiences have put in an appearance in some of her stories.
 
Lauren likes to receive feedback. If you want to send her likes and dislikes, you can go to the contact us page on the web-site laurenmariebooks.com or write to her at laurenmariebooks@gmail.com, themenofhallerlake@hotmail.com. or friend her at facebook.com/laurenmariebooks. She does respond to feedback.
 
 
 

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RELEASE TOUR ~ Fate’s Encore by JJ & TA Ellis


FATE’S ENCORE

AUTHORS: JJ & TA Ellis

GENRE: Romance – Baby Boomer/Mature Couple
EDITOR: GimmeLots Publications
Cover Designer: JJ Ellis 
CONTENT WARNING: Strong Sexual Content, Reproductive Triggers,
War and Combat Triggers, Death Triggers.
 
 

 
Jackson and Francesca, Cole and Evelyn: two baby boomer couples who have overcome their own personal hell to forge vibrant, lasting marriages 
 
When Francesca and Cole pass away within six months of each other, Jackson and Evelyn continue the pen pal relationship the two women started some 52 years prior. 
 
And with each bit of correspondence they find their hearts healing. Together, can they create a new and lasting bond?
 
MARCH 2013
 
Evelyn’s day was a busy one and now she was ready to sit down, kick her feet up, and call Fran and Jack. If the last time they talked a week ago was any indication, their weekly phone conversations would soon end. After six rings, the phone was finally picked up.
 
“Hello,” Fran breathed.
 
“Hey sweetie. I just wanted to let you know I love you.”
 
“Love you too,” she managed to get out before pausing, trying to catch her breath. “Evie, Jack’s in the bathroom so I have to make this quick.”
 
“Okay sweetie.” What could Fran need to hide from her husband?
 
“I need you to watch over Jack for me when I’m gone. Help him with his grief.”
 
“Of course. You don’t even need to ask.”
 
“You just went through it, so I figured…”
 
“I know, sweetie.”
 
“You’re the only one I can ask. You’re so much like your twin, and Ethan is one of the few people my dear husband trusts.”
 
“He’ll be just fine. We’ll make sure of it!”
 
“Promise me,” Fran choked out through tears.
 
“I promise!”
 
“Thank you. I love you, Evie. Here’s Jack.”
 
She could hear her friend’s labored breathing. “Love you too, Fran.”
 
A moment later, Jack came on the line. “Hey Evelyn.”
 
“Hi Jack. She’s not doing well, is she?”
 
“No. It’s close,” he murmured.
 
“How are you doing?” She heard a sigh and some deep breathing before he answered. 
 
“I’m fine. Right now I’m just trying to be strong for her.”
 
“You’re a good man, Jack.”
 
“No,” he insisted. “I’m just a man who loves his wife. I hate this but she’ll be going into the hospital Monday. We can’t do it here anymore.”
 
“I’m sorry.” Evelyn felt like someone had just reached out and torn her heart right from her chest for the second time in just under six months.
 
Jack cleared his throat loudly. “Enough about me. How did the grand re-opening of Movie and a Pizza Place go? I bet you’re relieved that renovations are complete.”
 
“Everything is perfect. Cole would be so proud of his business. But I think I’m about ready to retire.”
 
“Retire? You’re too young to retire.”
 
Evelyn laughed. “You sure know how to flatter a girl. But I’m just tired. I want to have some fun.”
 
“I don’t blame you there!” He suddenly heard Evelyn screech and her sons laughing in the background. 
 
“Boy, you do that again and I’ll scratch your eyes out.”
 
Jack laughed at the goings on at his friend’s house. It made him miss his oldest son Ethan, who was away in the Navy.
 
“I’m sorry Jack. My boys are acting like ten-year-old children.”
 
“That’s okay,” he chuckled. “There for a minute I thought there was a wild kitty cat loose at your house.”
 
“Yeah, sorry about that screech”
 
“No worries here. It’s good to hear you happy again.”
 
“I’m getting there, Jack. I truly am. Could you give Fran a hug and a kiss for me?”
 
“I will. I’ll talk to you soon.”
 
The line went silent and Evelyn put the phone away. With her friend going into the hospital she knew there would be no more weekly phone calls. Fran had been her pen pal for over fifty years and it was now time to write the final letter.


 
 


 
JJ Ellis
 
JJ Ellis is first and foremost a mom to five kids, four girls and one boy, ranging in age from 4-20. After that, she is a physically limited wife, blogger and now an author. She holds a degree in Communication Studies (Public Relations) from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas but never thought she would chose writing as a career, especially at the age of 42. She once wanted to be a publicist in the entertainment industry, but never a writer. Then one day when she was in her mid thirties she was going through what can only be described as an early ‘midlife crisis’ and ideas just started to come to her and she felt compelled to write them down. She finished her first book relatively quickly, but life got in the way and it took her eight years to revisit it and then publish her first novel. She can honestly say that now she is finally right where she wants to be.
 
JJ has been married to her college sweetheart (and romance novel hero) for twenty-one years and they reside in Casper, WY with their kids and one crazy mutt named Kreuger. She enjoys reading, writing, blogging, computing, and graphic design. She will try anything that will allow her creativity to be released. 
 
 
 
TA Ellis
 
TA Ellis is married to best selling romance Author JJ Ellis and is the father to five kids, four girls and one boy, ranging in age from 4-20. He holds a degree in Secondary Education from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas and has flirted with the idea of writing for years. He however did not expect to be writing romance as Sci-fi/horror/fantasy are more to his liking. But as a sounding board for his wife, he realized he had some good ideas and the team of JJ & TA Ellis was born.
 
TA lives in Casper, WY with his wife and kids and one crazy mutt named Kreuger. He enjoys reading, video games and grilling. He is excited to embark on this romance journey…after all, he’s been happily married for twenty-one years.



MoBPromo

PROMO TOUR ~ The Starlight Chronicles by Lisa Orchard

The Starlight Chronicles
 
GENRE: Young Adult / Coming of Age
EDITOR: EsKape Press
COVER DESGINER: For the Muse Designs

 


Lark Singer is seventeen years old and already on the way to a brilliant music career. But as she and her band, Starlight, gear up for a competition, life seems to be throwing her a few curve balls. The mysteries of her past seem to be unraveling, and she’s no longer certain she wants to know those answers or how knowing about her past will affect her difficult relationship with her mother. And when her best friend, Bean, changes things between them, all her plans for a musical future are placed in jeopardy. How can she balance her complicated personal life to keep her musical goals on track?

 

Book One ~ Gideon Lee

Original Release Date: Oct 19, 2014

Lark Singer’s relationship with her mother is prickly to say the least. As she enters a musical competition that could launch her career, Lark also searches for answers her mother would rather keep hidden. Throw into the mix the fact her best friend Bean has been acting strangely, and Lark finds herself launched into uncharted territory. Will her quest for answers sabotage her musical aspirations?

 
Chapter One
 
I want to be like Gideon Lee. My lips move as I read the title of my essay. They twitch as I stifle a snicker. Looking around the room, I make sure no one has seen my facial tic. My eyes light upon the Presidents’ pictures lined up on the wall. They face me, each with a unique expression, and I wonder what they were thinking while they posed. They are above the clock so my gaze naturally falls on it. It’s almost time for lunch.
 
I settle back in my seat and my lips twitch again. A feeling of defiant exhilaration washes over me like a tidal wave.
 
Montgomery’s going to freak when he reads this.
 
Despite my best efforts, a giggle escapes and the boy in front of me turns around and gives me the evil eye. I return the glare. He is slumped over, and sweat beads on his upper lip. I think this is odd — it’s rather chilly in the room — but dismiss it before I turn back to my essay.

I bet old man Montgomery doesn’t even know who Gideon Lee is. This thought sends another giggle to the surface, but I quickly squash it by biting my lip.
 
I picture him searching Gideon Lee’s name on the Internet. I see his expression changing from confusion to disgust. I imagine him taking off his black, thick-rimmed glasses and shaking his head. I hear him mutter, “Lark Singer, what are you doing?” He rubs his face. I can actually hear the rough sandpapery sound as his hand finds his day old stubble. He sighs and puts his glasses back on. “What am I going to do with you?”
 
I remember when Mr. Montgomery first told us about the assignment. We were supposed to write an essay on someone we admire, someone who has contributed to society in some way. I know when he says this he wants us to write about an a historical figure. After all this is history class, but I raised my hand anyway.
 
“Lark,” he called out as he stood at his lectern.
 
“Do they have to be dead?”
 
He cocked his head as he studied me with his piercing blue eyes. Then he ran his hand over his military style crew cut, and I watched as his salt and pepper hair flattened then popped back into place as if each hair was standing at attention. I could tell he wasn’t sure where this was going. “Well… I guess not.” That’s when he froze, as if he realized he had just opened a door for me and he wasn’t going to like what was on the other side. He shifted his weight, and looked down at the floor before he backpedaled. “But they have to have made a positive contribution to society. It can’t be about a mobster or anything like that.” Pursing his lips, he stared at me, fiddling with those glasses. “This is one half of your semester grade, Lark. I wouldn’t pull any funny stuff.”
 
“Oh, I won’t. Scout’s honor,” I answered sweetly, placing my hand over my heart and giving him the scout salute, while inside I planned my rebellion.
 
I have him. I’m going to write about Gideon Lee, and there’s nothing he can do about it.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Book Two ~ Lark Singer
Original Release Date: Dec 6, 2014
 
 
Lark Singer is seventeen years old and already on the way to a brilliant music career. As she and her band, Starlight, gear-up for an upcoming, life-changing band competition, though, life seems to be throwing her a few curve balls. The mysteries of her past seem to be unraveling, and she’s no longer certain she wants to know those answers, or how knowing about her past will affect her difficult relationship with her mother. And when her best friend, Bean, changes things between them, all her plans for a musical future are placed in jeopardy. How can she balance her unraveling personal life to keep her musical goals on track?

 

Chapter One

 
THE GUYS ARE impatiently waiting for me. Bean’s foot jiggles so fast; it appears as if a current of electricity runs through him. We have to be down at Pearl’s by seven.
 
We’re all geeked about playing on stage, I can tell. Performing at Pearl’s gives us the face time we need for when it’s really going to count. The real event — the competition — is only a few weeks away. I pick up my pace, we have three hours to jam and grab some food before we go on stage.
 
“Come on, Chickie,” he says, gesturing with his sticks as he settles into position behind his drums.
 
Rushing forward, I plug in my amp. As I crank out a few chords to warm up, that old energy buzzes through my veins. After a couple of licks, I’m ready and my nimble fingers tingle. I’m wired. I love playing in front of a live audience. “Which one are we jamming on?” I look over at Bean and wait for his answer.
 
His brow creases as he tries to decide. “This one here.” He holds up the lead sheet and waves it impatiently in the air.
 
I squint to see it. It’s the one we titled “Secrets.” Pointing to the lead sheet sitting on Stevie’s stand, I get into position. I had taken a few minutes and titled Stevie’s lead sheets for him the other day.
 
He nods. “Thanks.”
 
Bean slams his sticks together and counts out. “One… two… three.”
 
We’re off, filling the garage with musical energy. My body’s rigid, as if every muscle’s flexed and ready for action. Screaming chords fill the air, as my nimble fingers crank on my Gibson. I feel like I’m a live electrical wire, popping and snapping with unrestrained energy.
 
When we’re done with that song, no one speaks. Instead, Bean holds up another lead sheet and then we’re off again. Tonight’s performance is going to be epic. I can tell just by how we’re coming together. I grin in spite of my intense concentration; my confidence is growing by leaps and bounds. We are so ready for this competition that I can feel it all the way down to my bones.
 
After the second song, I hold up my hand and say, “Our sound smokes. But don’t you think we should play some of the music we’re going to be performing tonight?”
 
Bean snorts. “Yeah. Probably.”
 
We take a few minutes and discuss some of the songs we want to play. We usually crank out tunes that were big hits in the seventies and eighties, a lot of Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, and Rolling Stones. They’re more mellow than what we’ve been playing, but they’re still good melodies and the crowd at Pearl’s digs that classical sound. Playing this type of music broadens our musicianship, but there’s nothing like cranking out our own songs. After choosing a few of the harder tunes we immediately start jamming.
 
We’ve chosen “Hotel California” by the Eagles. It’s a dark tune about moving to California and I love the melody. My guitar howls out the chords and I feel that quiver inside as I sing the lyrics. After cranking out three more Eagles’ songs, we change it up for a few Fleetwood Mac and Rolling Stones’ songs. They’re great dance tunes and we know we’ll get people out on the floor with these.
 
After the last melody, we take a break. The garage seems to hum with the absence of our music. As if it was vibrating at a rapid rate and is slowly winding down because the music stopped. We all take swigs from the water bottles Bean brought out earlier and then sit in the folding chairs by the wall.
 
“What time is it?” Stevie asks, screwing the cap back on his water bottle.
 
“Time to get going,” Bean answers after a quick glance at his watch. “My brother should be here any minute to help me get my drum set down to Pearl’s.”
 
“Cool. I guess I’ll ride down with Francine.” I grimace as I say this and Bean exchanges a look with Stevie.
 
“I’ve got my parents’ Toyota for the night. You could ride with me,” Stevie offers with grin and a shrug.
 
“Awesome.” I smile at him as my heart swells with gratitude for my band mates. The truce between Francine and me has been extended, mainly because I’ve been
 
avoiding her and there hasn’t been an opportunity to wage another war. So I welcome any opportunity to keep the avoidance plan going.
 
A horn sounds off in front of the house. Moving to the garage door opener, I press the button. The Brown Turd sits in the driveway, rumbling and vibrating.
 
“There’s my ride,” Bean says. “Can I get some help?”
 
No one talks as we all gather around Bean’s drum set and help him disassemble it. It takes us about fifteen minutes to get everything in the car, but when we’re done, Bean’s satisfied with our work. He gives me a wink and says, “I’ll see you down there, Chickie.” Shifting his focus to Stevie, he says, “Later, dude.” They exchange a quick knuckle bump, and then Bean jumps in the car.
 
As they pull out of the driveway, Stevie gives me a nudge. “Come on. Let’s get going.”
 
I follow him back to the garage, where we grab our equipment and stow it in the backseat of his parents’ green sedan. Then we hustle inside and grab our coats. On my way out the door, I glance at my watch and realize we’ll just have enough time to eat before we play. Since we don’t charge for our performance, the owner of Pearl’s gives us our meal on the house. We’re okay with that because we need the face time and the food at Pearl’s is epically awesome.
 
After we climb into the car, Stevie starts it and pulls away from the curb. “What’re you going to get?” he asks after adjusting his mirror.
 
I tilt my head and think about it before I answer. “Probably a wet burrito.” I smile and face him. “How about you?”
 
“That does sound pretty good. I’ll probably get one of those too.”
 
We share a giddy laugh and then zoom down the road. I love Friday nights at Pearl’s, the relaxed atmosphere and the friendliness of the staff. The owner of the bar, whose actual name is Marge, always welcomes us with a smile. Her grandmother, the original owner, was Pearl.
 
Marge is a rotund woman with big boobs and an even bigger heart. When I was a young girl, I’d been afraid of her. Afraid that I’d get lost in that big pillowy chest and suffocate.
 
I snicker every time I think about that now and chalk it up to irrational fears of childhood.
 
As we pull into the parking lot behind the bar, I turn to Stevie and say. “Hey, did Bean tell you we have a name for the band?”
 
Stevie shakes his head as he puts the car in park and shuts it off. “Nope. What is it?”
 
“Starlight.”
 
Stevie grins and fiddles with his glasses. He repeats the name a couple of times, then turns to me, and says, “I like it.”
 
I let out a squeal of delight. “I do too.”
 
Stevie laughs because I’m not the type of girl that squeals. I’m much more levelheaded, but I can’t help it. We have our songs picked out and we have a name for the band. And the fact that we’re getting face time tonight is just frosting on the cake.
 
“Where’s Bean?” I ask, scanning the parking lot for the Brown Turd.
 
Stevie frowns. “I don’t know. He should be here by now.”
 
“Well let’s get the equipment into the bar. Maybe by the time we’re done, he’ll be here.”
 
“Okay.”
 
Climbing out of the car, I scrutinize the area again and still no Bean. Disappointed, I sigh and grab my Gibson and my amp, then carry them inside. Stevie’s right behind me with his gear in tow.
 
We trudge through the back door and find ourselves in a dimly lit hall. It’s narrow and smells of slimy grease and stale cigarettes. I figure this is where Marge’s staff comes when they want to have a smoke.
 
Traveling down the narrow corridor, we pass a bathroom on the right and the kitchen on the left. Coming from the kitchen is the sound of meat frying on a hot grill, the clatter of dishes, and the barking of orders as the staff hustle around trying to get through the dinner rush.
 
Inhaling a big whiff, I catch the scent of chipotle and cayenne pepper. Must be a Mexican dish is the special tonight, and my stomach rumbles in anticipation. We skirt
 
the main dining room and enter the bar area. At seven, Marge opens the divider between the two rooms and we’ll start cranking out the tunes.
 
There’s a small stage at the back and we head in that direction. I flick on the light. It flickers before the room lights up. Booths with cracked upholstery line the walls, and there are tables sporting red plastic tablecloths with candles in the center of them. Surrounding the tables like troops taking a bunker, are chairs with the same type of upholstery as the booths.
 
Stevie bangs into a table with his Fender and curses under his breath. I make it up on the stage and place my equipment on the left. Stevie likes the right side and Bean sits center stage, about five feet behind Stevie and me. There’s a small platform for him that sits about ten inches higher than the stage. This way Bean isn’t lost behind his drums. Stooping, I arrange my stand and amp so they’re out of the way, but accessible. Stevie does the same thing, and we’re quiet as we work.
 
After I get everything situated, I glance toward the door and frown. Still no Bean. My stomach flutters. If we don’t have a drummer, we can’t play. I catch Stevie’s eye. “I’m getting nervous.”
 
Stevie gives me a smile and says, “Chill. He’ll be here. You know Bean, he’s always running late.”
 
Just as Stevie finishes speaking, Bean rushes in the door. He’s carrying one of his snare drums and his brother’s following behind him carrying his cymbals. I’m so glad to see him that my heart swells in my chest. The overwhelming urge to run up and hug him is so strong, that I have to clench my hands to stop myself. I play it cool and say, “Hey. We were wondering where you were.”
 
He gives me a wide grin and says, “We had to make a quick stop.” He’s pumped — I can tell by his energetic motions and bright, shiny eyes. “I’ll be right back with the rest of my drums.” He winks at me and then turns to Stevie. “Would you care to help, kind sir?”
 
Bean and Stevie share a laugh at Bean’s silliness, then leave to carry in the rest of the drums. Brian waves to me
 
and bounds. We are so ready for this competition that I can feel it all the way down to my bones.
 
After the second song, I hold up my hand and say, “Our sound smokes. But don’t you think we should play some of the music we’re going to be performing tonight?”
 
Bean snorts. “Yeah. Probably.”
 
We take a few minutes and discuss some of the songs we want to play. We usually crank out tunes that were big hits in the seventies and eighties, a lot of Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, and Rolling Stones. They’re more mellow than what we’ve been playing, but they’re still good melodies and the crowd at Pearl’s digs that classical sound. Playing this type of music broadens our musicianship, but there’s nothing like cranking out our own songs. After choosing a few of the harder tunes we immediately start jamming.
 
We’ve chosen “Hotel California” by the Eagles. It’s a dark tune about moving to California and I love the melody. My guitar howls out the chords and I feel that quiver inside as I sing the lyrics. After cranking out three more Eagles’ songs, we change it up for a few Fleetwood Mac and Rolling Stones’ songs. They’re great dance tunes and we know we’ll get people out on the floor with these.
 
After the last melody, we take a break. The garage seems to hum with the absence of our music. As if it was vibrating at a rapid rate and is slowly winding down because the music stopped. We all take swigs from the water bottles Bean brought out earlier and then sit in the folding chairs by the wall.
 
“What time is it?” Stevie asks, screwing the cap back on his water bottle.
 
“Time to get going,” Bean answers after a quick glance at his watch. “My brother should be here any minute to help me get my drum set down to Pearl’s.”
 
“Cool. I guess I’ll ride down with Francine.” I grimace as I say this and Bean exchanges a look with Stevie.
 
“I’ve got my parents’ Toyota for the night. You could ride with me,” Stevie offers with grin and a shrug.
 
“Awesome.” I smile at him as my heart swells with gratitude for my band mates. The truce between Francine and me has been extended, mainly because I’ve been avoiding her and there hasn’t been an opportunity to wage another war. So I welcome any opportunity to keep the avoidance plan going.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Book Three ~ Starlight

Original Release Date: Feb 17, 2015

Everything is on track for Seventeen-year-old Lark Singer and her band Starlight. They have a great shot at winning the competition that can launch their musical career. But when Lark discovers they will be competing against her old nemesis Duane McIntyre things really heat up. How far will Lark go to win, and what will it cost her in the end?

 
Chapter One
 
“AWESOME JAM session!” announces Bean as he twirls his sticks in the air.
 
“We are so ready!” I exclaim. The competition is just a week away, but I’ve never been so ready for anything in my life. We have the smoking hot tunes. Four of them, and they’re full of positive energy. And we have the smoking hot name. Starlight. I love the way it rolls off my tongue when I say it.
 
For a brief second, I think about who we’re up against for the competition and Duh-Wayne’s face floats into my consciousness. I shake my head to wash the image away. Nothing is going to ruin this chance for me, not even Duh-Wayne.
 
The competition. It’s my one chance to get out of this town, to have the musical career of my dreams. The winner gets a paid-in-full opportunity to audition for American Singer and the winner of that gets a recording contract. I can almost feel the contract in my hand.
 
Turning my attention back to the task at hand, I unplug my guitar. As I put my Gibson back into its case, Bean moves from his perch behind his drum set and squats next to me. “Hey, I’ve got to give Stevie a ride home, but after that would you like to go for a cruise?”
 
“Yeah.” I give him a smile. “I would.”
 
“Bean. Come on, I’ve got to get home,” Stevie says in a tone that’s not quite impatient.
 
I stand. “Just let me put this away,” I say, patting my guitar case. I hustle inside and run my guitar up to my room.
 
When I return to the garage, I hit the button and then sneak under the door as it makes its descent. Stevie’s standing just outside the passenger door, waiting for me to climb into the car next to Bean before he gets in. He’s thoughtful that way.
 
I climb in and give Bean a nudge and a grin. He grins back and his eyes have that special twinkle that’s just for me.
 
Stevie scrambles in and closes the door. “Let’s go.”
 
Bean backs out of the driveway and heads down the road. The Brown Turd rumbles and backfires as he steps on the gas. I’m surprised Mr. Szasbo hasn’t made an appearance, but then I remember his cat. Ever since I saved his kitten, I haven’t heard a complaint from him. Maybe he has warmed toward me.
 
It takes us fifteen minutes to reach Stevie’s house. A brick ranch with a long front porch and attached two-stall garage. The house doesn’t seem to match my friend. I expected him to live in some bungalow by the sea. Instead, he’s in small town suburbia and it dawns on me that I don’t even know what his parents do for a living.
 
“I’ll catch you guys tomorrow,” Stevie says with a wave, pulling me from my thoughts.
 
“Yeah. Tomorrow,” I say with a quick smile. I can’t wait for him to leave so I can be alone with Bean.
 
“Later, Dude,” Bean yells before rolling up his window. I snuggle up to him as he steps on the gas and heads toward downtown. “So where do you want to go?”
 
I shrug. “I don’t know. Let’s go someplace where we can talk.”
 
He winks at me and says, “I know just the place.”
 
“Where?”
 
“You’ll see.” He gives me a mischievous smile that sends my heart racing. I love it when he looks at me like that.
 
We make small talk while he drives to our destination. I’m shocked when we pull into a cemetery. “What are we doing here?”
 
“You said you wanted to go someplace to talk.” He snickers. “We definitely won’t get interrupted here.”
 
“No kidding,” I say as I stare out the window. The grave markers go by and I can’t help but think about the people lying beneath the ground. I wonder what kind of lives they had. As I think about these things, I realize there’s a lot of history in this cemetery.
 
“So, what did you want to talk about?” Bean asks as he grabs my hand. The familiarity of the rough calluses on
 
my skin warms my heart. He stops the car and turns the engine off.
 
“My mom admitted it.”
 
“Admitted what?” Bean shifts in his seat and slouches against the driver’s door.
 
I shift and turn toward him. Before I speak, I rub my fingers along the scar above my right eyebrow. It’s my bastard stamp. I got it the day Duh-Wayne called me a bastard and then laughed when I didn’t know what one was. As I recall the horrific fight we had, a shudder runs through me as I tell him. “She admitted that Jared Miller is my father.”
 
“What?” Bean sits up straight and bumps his head against the window. Rubbing it he says, “When did all this happen?”
 
“Last night.” I brush a curl away from my face.
 
 
 
 
 

 


 
 
Lisa Orchard grew up loving books. She was hooked on books by the fifth grade and even wrote a few of her own. She knew she wanted to be a writer even then. Her first published works are the “Super Spies Series.” These stories revolve around a group of friends who form their own detective squad and the cases they solve. “The Starlight Chronicles,” is the next series that Lisa created with musical misfit, Lark Singer as her main character.
 
Lisa resides in Michigan with her husband, Steve, and two wonderful boys. Currently, she’s working on the next book in the Starlight Chronicles Series along with a few new ideas that may turn into stand-alone novels. When she’s not writing she enjoys spending time with her family, running, hiking, and reading.
 
 
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ONE DAY MINI BLITZ ~ It’s A Marshmallow World by Diane Rinella


Genre: Holiday Contemporary Romance
 
One Christmas, Darla was given a mystical gift, along with an ominous message. Years later, meeting Chris puts her head in a spin. Could it be that gift from long ago holds the key to their happiness? — It’s A Marshamallow World is the standalone prequel to Scary Modsters … and Creepy Freaks.
 
 


PROMO/RELEASE TOUR ~ Unchained Love by Savannah Hill

 
 
UNCHAINED LOVE
AUTHOR: Savannah Hill

GENRE: Paranormal Erotic Romance
 
 
 

 


 
 
There is a hunger that blood alone cannot satisfy…
 
Growing up in a world of privilege, Royal Gabriel never questioned the source of her father’s great wealth or his cruel enslavement of the human-like beings known as “bloodlings.” Now grown to exquisite womanhood, she can no longer ignore Charles Gabriel’s wickedness, especially after encountering his latest captive—the alpha bloodling pack leader he calls “X”—chained in the basement of the family estate. Royal is captivated by the sensuous power of this creature who is expected to battle to the death against others of his race in her father’s underground fighting arena. But only after she sets him free—after surrendering to his poisonous bite and raw passion—does she learn the alpha’s true history, and her bloodthirsty lover’s real name: Maddox.
 

With bloodling venom coursing through her veins, Royal feels herself growing, changing, awakening as never before beneath the alpha’s tender touch. Now only Maddox can save her. But the inescapable demands of a breathtaking, forbidden love and the fire Maddox has ignited within her are leading Royal down a dangerous path, branding her a traitor and hunted enemy of her own vengeful bloodline.


 


 
 
A strange, distant noise echoed in the chasm of darkness in front of her. The wine cellar stretched on into endless shadows, and she got the eerie sense she wasn’t alone. Royal snatched another bottle of wine before rushing to the staircase. 
 
A low, doleful…was it a growl? Some kind of animalistic grumble carried from the black abyss. He sounded as if he was in pain. Was it coming from a “him” or a wounded animal? Curiosity drove her toward it. She took a deep swallow of wine, then set both bottles on the bar before wandering into the dark. 
 
Royal brushed her long brown hair behind her shoulders and grasped her arms to ward off the chills. She followed the sound through the cold, damp cellar. As she turned a corner, a sliver of light shone in a distant room. The growling grew more distinct as she drew closer. 
 
The space was lit by a tiny window just below the ceiling. The falling snow outside cast a white glow on the dismal scene. A man, no…he must have been a bloodling, stood in the center of the room, his muscular arms stretched upward, shackled to an iron chain that hung from a wooden beam along the ceiling. A dark shadow of hair covered his shaved head. Stripped naked, his well-built body had taken quite a beating, covered almost completely with bruises and scrapes. An intricate black tattoo stretched over his right chest muscle and shoulder, streaked with blood. His head hung forward, shielding his face. 
 
Britton sat on his heels on the floor, his face against the restrained bloodling’s groin, lapping at his exposed genitals with loud, slurping strokes. 
 
The bloodling growled a deep, miserable sound. 
 
Britton moaned, baring his teeth and gnawing lightly on the poor creature’s testicles. 
 
“Stop!” Royal found her voice, surprised at the authority dripping from her own tone.
 
Startled, Britton scurried toward her, moving to kiss her satin high heels in apology. 
 
“No…” She took a step backward, uneasy and nauseous. “Thank you. Go, um.” Her brief venture into dominance had passed, and she attempted to regain control. “Fetch, fetch the wine for my father.” 
 
With a strange gleam in his dark brown eyes, Britton stared at her as he crawled out of the room. 
 
The chained bloodling hadn’t moved, his head still hung over his chest, his long lashes lowered. Against her better judgment, Royal slowly walked toward him. The swish of her silk skirt and hollow click of her heels broke the silence in the room. 
 
This must be X, the alpha pack leader Sebastian shot in the shoulder and captured. His dismal growls during Britton’s sexual assault pulled at her heart. He stood naked, broken, and vulnerable, not dangerous.
 
His heavy dick drew her gaze, larger than any she’d ever witnessed, and she imagined what it would look like erect. A vibrating growl escaped his throat, and she stopped in her tracks, inches away from him. She didn’t have a plan, only a deep urge to see his face 
 
Tilting her head low, her gaze drifted up his beaten body to his tormented expression. His attractive features stunned her for a moment. 
 
X lifted his lashes, his blue-green eyes piercing through her. 
 
“Closer.” His voice was a gravelly murmur. 
 
Her heart thumped faster. Sensations stirred in her lower belly as she moved toward him. She tried to quiet her rapid breath. His sensuous lips would be so easy to kiss, but she held herself steady. 
 
“You’re going to torture me?” X twisted his face toward her, grazing his teeth along her neck. 
 
“No.” She shivered at the sharp fangs, lightly dragging across her skin. 
 
“Royal! Get away from him!” 
 
Gwen’s scream sounded distant as the bloodling sank his teeth into Royal’s shoulder. She gasped at the sudden stabbing pain. 
 
She tasted like a fantasy. He sucked on her silky skin, drawing power. His venom snaked into her bloodstream.
 
Her tiny hand clasped onto his side. “Please… No.” 
 
He wanted to hear more of her begging. She grew weak, leaning into his body, and X felt it in his groin. Her silk dress brushed against his thickening cock, and a sensual growl rumbled in his throat. 
 
His jagged teeth retracted, and he drew back from her, baffled by his own body’s response to her. This girl was his captor, the enemy. She and her family used his kind as pets.
 

Royal held her hand over the bleeding wound on her shoulder and stumbled backward. Amber-colored eyes stared at him as if he’d betrayed her somehow. Long waves of shiny brown hair fell around her shoulders, and X was gripped with the ludicrous urge to run his fingers through the thick layers.


 

 


 
 
 
Boxers, Briefs, or Commando?
 
Maddox: I’m not answering that.
Royal: You mean what do I like? On a man? Uh, boxer-briefs. Or commando sounds nice too.
 
Are you a wine or coffee kind of person?
 
Maddox: I like Jack Daniels.
Royal: Depends on the occasion, I don’t drink very often. I do love coffee. 
 
What is your perfect type when it comes to dating?
 
Maddox: I don’t really “date”. I own a bar, and my pack brothers take up a lot of my time, too. Not a lot of time for females. 
Royal: Hmm… I’m not very picky. Handsome. Loyal. Smart… the usual things, I guess. 
 
Free and single or happily settled down?
 
Maddox: Single.
Royal: I’d like to settle down someday, I think. I mean, if I found the right guy, yeah definitely. 
 
Favorite movie?
 
Maddox: The Godfather.
Royal: I travel a lot, so I don’t get to watch movies very often. The last one I saw was Avatar. I really liked it.
 
What would people be surprised to find out about you?
 
Maddox: I’m a pretty open book. I don’t keep secrets. 
Royal: I’ve never introduced one friend to any of my family members. My family is a little… violent. Especially my father. I usually only see them on holidays. 
 
What is your dream vacation destination? 
 
Maddox: My pack and I go hunting and camping in the mountains around my hometown. I like being in the woods. 

Royal: Some of my favorite places are Rome and Barcelona. But I’ve been traveling for a few years now and I’d like to settle down and make a home somewhere.


 
  1. I LOVE Christmas. I was so excited to write a holiday-themed story, although Unchained Love does get a little dark for such a sparkly holiday… It’s a rather violent erotic romance. My favorite kind. 🙂
  2. Bloodlings are featured prominently in book three of my Hawthorne Witches series. The characters from Unchained Love may or may not make an appearance in that book. 
  3. I listened to “The Chain” by Fleetwood Mac on repeat while I wrote most of the book. I usually change up my music choices, but this was such a short little book. 
  4. The second book in the Bound in Bloodlust series, Broken Slave, will be about Britton, the slave bloodling house-pet, after he’s been freed. But after talking to the readers, I’ve decided to continue Royal and Maddox’s story and write Unchained Love Part Two next.
  5. I plan to write books for all of Maddox’s pack brothers, but so far I just have one in mind, book three, Taste of the Enemy. Royal’s sister, Gwen starts to turn from her wicked ways and falls for a bloodling herself after using his kind as pets her whole life.

 


 

 

 


 
 
Savannah Hill is an erotic romance novelist diligently working to create a world that readers can truly experience and enjoy along with her. Captivated by romance at a very young age, she began writing love stories in grade school, always imagining new scenarios and characters. Addicted to her passion, her first novel, Paramour for the Devil, is the story that invaded her dreams until the final chapter was written. She is currently writing the sequel to Paramour, Seducing the Devil.
 
She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her man, the love of her life, and spends her days chasing their toddler boy who loves to giggle.
 

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PROMO TOUR ~ An Impossible Rescue by Annamaria Bazzi

AN IMPOSSIBLE RESCUE
Author: Annamaria Bazzi

Cover designer: Ada Frost
Editor: Laura Garland and Kate Richards
Genre: sweet romance/contemporary
Published: November 16, 2015
 
 
Christmas is no joy for Julia whose husband, a high-risk investor, comes around only to ask for money. When a handsome stranger and his cute Pomeranian puppy move in next-door, Julia feels guilty for their mutual attraction. 
 
Michael’s not the rescuing type, but when he spies Julia’s husband haranguing her for holiday cash, anger flares and he is determined to rescue Julia from another miserable Christmas.
 
 


 
 
Why hasn’t he signed the divorce papers? Money, that’s why. The no good lowlife always wants money from me.
 
Just three months after the wedding, she’d realized he’d married her for her wealth. Thank God her father was still alive and owned the business her mother had created and turned into a multimillion-dollar company. Dad had supported Mother and had taken care of all the accounting for the business.
Rising, Julia sauntered to the kitchen. She glanced around the open architecture, which had made her fall in love with the house to begin with. Dad always wanted to see her happy, so he’d bought her the five thousand square foot home as a wedding present, with just one catch—the house would remain in his name.
 
“Why would you do such a thing?” Her voice rose.
 
“Calm down. You’re a woman in love and don’t see what I see. One day, you’ll thank me.”
 
Those words kept coming back, and she praised God for her father’s wisdom. Every time Damien ran dry, he came back and asked her for money then disappeared for weeks at a time, sometimes months. Another conversation came to the forefront, and she leaned on the island, playing it through her mind.
 
“Why are you doing this? We love each other.”
 
“Your business is not profitable yet, but one day it will be,” her dad said. “You’re too much like your mother, God rest her soul, and your business will bring in millions. I don’t want him to walk away with the sweat of your brow.”
 
She waved the papers she held at him. “This is a prenuptial agreement, are you serious?”
 
“I’m dead serious. Mark my words, the day will come when you’ll thank me.”
 
Julia sighed. “Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered. “Mom, you married a wise man. Not like me, who married a complete jerk.”
 
She opened the refrigerator and took out the bottle of white wine she’d opened a few nights ago, pouring some in a Waterford wineglass. After corking the bottle and placing it back in the fridge, she curled up on the sofa. Staring into the shadows of evening, she beat herself for having been so blind with respect to Damien. “Love is blind” turned out to be so true. Damn! Could I have been more stupid?
 
Disgusted with herself to the point she couldn’t enjoy the book, she placed the paperback back on the bookshelf and went up to the master suite to enjoy a hot bath. Julia lit all the aromatic candles and filled the tub. While the water poured into it, she ran downstairs to pick up the wineglass she’d forgotten in the gathering room.
 
Almost asleep in the jetted tub and with steam filling the large room, it took a while before she heard her cell buzzing. Who could possibly be calling at this hour? She tightened her lips,and scrunched her brow. She stood and wrapped her body in a plush white towel. This was supposed to be her time to relax. Anger and anxiety rushed through her.
 
“Hello?” she said with a bit more force than she wanted.
 
“Hey, babe, I’ll be home for Christmas.”
 
“Damien, where are you?”
 
“I’m in the middle of an investment deal in Qatar.”
 
Had she heard right? “Where?”
 
“Qatar, baby. You know, the Middle East.”
 
Not in the mood to hear about his new gamble in whatever kind of  business venture he’d embroiled himself in, she hung up and shut off her iPhone, returning to the tub of lukewarm water. Letting some of it out, she refilled the tub with steaming water then sank down to her chin and closed her eyes. If anyone needed her, they could just show up at the house.
 
When her bath cooled again, she slipped into her robe, tied it at her waist, and stretched out on the bed.
 
Cold crept into her bones, and she shivered. Darkness surrounded her. How long had she slept? Sitting up, she grabbed her cell phone and turned it back on. Goodness, it was 8:15 p.m.Pangs of hunger burned her stomach, but she didn’t feel like cooking at such a late hour. She dialed for delivery.
 
“Hello, I’d like to order veal Parmesan….”
 
With the order on the way, she slipped into silky pajamas, French braided her milk-chocolate brown hair, and went downstairs to wait for the food to arrive.
 
The gourmet kitchen surrounding her had been a joy to create with the help of Marcello DiStoia, a wonderful designer of kitchens and baths. A place where she’d dreamed of cooking with her newlywed husband. He did help for the first few months of marriage, but then all his failed ventures took him to different corners of the earth as he looked to gamble in varied “business opportunities” as he called them. Apparently, now he was in Qatar, of all places. She rolled her eyes and closed her hands in tight fists. A few deep breaths and she let it all go, reminding herself Damien was not worth a single thought.
 
A sigh of relief escaped her when the doorbell rang announcing the arrival of the food.
 
“Thank you.” She took the package from the older man, giving him a twenty-dollar tip.
 
“Have a good evening.”
 
Before closing the door, she stuck her head out to admire a few flurries. Only the beginning of October, it seemed too early for snow. In Virginia, it almost never snowed until after Christmas. Back at the counter, she laid out one place setting and sat on one of the high chairs. As she shoved the first bite in her mouth, the cell rang. Huffing, she reached for it to see who called.
 
“Hello, Dad. What’s up?”
 
“You were supposed to call to let me know if you want to go out Saturday night to grab some dinner and a movie with your old dad.”
 
“Oh my God!” She raised her hand to her chest. “So sorry, I forgot all about calling. Yes, I want to go out with you on Saturday. What movie did you want to see?”
 
“I thought we could just see whatever is playing at the Bird Theater, since you enjoy eating at Can Can.”
 
“Sounds perfect! I love going to Can Can.”
 
“I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.” The higher pitch in his voice let her know how happy and excited he felt about the date.
 
The phone disconnected.Ever since a little girl, she’d loved her special moments alone with her father. He’d involved himself raising his only child and sharing the duties of a soccer mom. Julia had loved that about her father, and she’d grown close to him, developing a unique and open relationship.
After clearing the counter and throwing the boxes away, Julia went back to her room to brush her teeth and slip between the covers. Exhaustion took over, and when she rested her head on the pillow she fell asleep.
 



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An Impossible Rescue can be found as part of the Christmas Pets & Kisses
 
 
 
 


 
 
 
annamaria author

Although born in the United States, Annamaria Bazzi spent a great deal of her childhood in Sicily, Italy, in a town called Sciacca. Italian was the language spoken at home. Therefore, she had no problems when she found herself growing up in a strange country. Upon returning to the States, she promised herself she would speak without an accent. She attended Wayne State University in Detroit Michigan, where she obtained her Bachelor of Science in Computers with a minor in Spanish.
Annamaria spent twenty years programming systems for large corporations, creating innovative solution, and addressing customer problems. During those years, she raised four daughters and one husband. Annamaria lives in Richmond Virginia with her small family where she now dedicates a good part of her day writing.
 
    

 


 

COVER REVEAL ~ Take Me Home by Stephanie Summers

 
 
TAKE ME HOME
Book 2 of the Take Me Duet
Stephanie Summers

Name of cover designer – S. Summers
 Official genre of book – Contemporary Romance
Content warning – Sex, some violence, and some drug use
A romance with a rock star, not a rock star romance…
 
Ash London, front man for uber-successful rock band Ferrum, is happily living the life he always dreamed he could have with Lila Stephens. After working through Lila’s traumatic past and Ash’s trust issues, they’ve finally connected and life is good. One phone call changes everything though when Ash finds out the time off he was promised is being cut short. The stress of being on the road and away from Lila gets to Ash, and when a face from his past shows up, it turns his world upside down, dragging up past demons that he’s chosen to keep from Lila. Would she look at him differently if she knew the truth? Will her love be enough to save him from himself?

 


 
 

 


 
 

 


 
 

 

 

Stephanie Summers is a paranormal and contemporary romance author. She graduated from West Virginia University with a degree in accounting, though writing is her true passion. Stephanie seemed to always have a story or two or ten running around in her mind. At the ripe old age of 30, she finally decided it was time to put aside the thought that she didn’t have what it took to write a novel and began writing her first story. 

 
She has since written her first paranormal series, The Willow Creek Vampires Series, with Craving (Book #1), Haunting (Book #2), Awakening (Book #3), and the short companion story, The Bludworth Chronicles: Origin, available now. Her short story, Love Forgotten, was chosen to be published in Stardust: A Futuristic Romance Collection, and another short story, Saved by the Bear, is available now. Her contemporary rock star romance, Take Me On, was released summer of 2015, with the sequel, Take Me Home, due out soon.
 
 
 
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magicofbookspromo@gmail.com


 

PROMO TOUR ~ Sheltered Love Series

SHELTERED LOVE SERIES
 
GENRE: Contemporary Romance

 

When love involves shelter animals, these four stories will warm your heart.

~ Book One ~
Unleashed Love by Jackie Marilla
 
 
 
Glenda Weber is tired of roaming around her big empty house alone. Her volunteer work at the local animal shelter in Cedar Grove, Iowa is satisfying, but she’d give anything to have a companion and a few pets. Too bad her loyalty to her deceased husband prohibits bringing pets into the house and her insecurities about finding new love complicates matters. 
 
When Glenda meets Loman Cejka at the animal shelter and he invites her for supper two times in one week, she starts to gain confidence that she can build a relationship and maybe even fall in love. 
 
Glenda and Loman agree their grown children need to be comfortable with their relationship, so when all four children are home for the town’s 4th of July Celebration, Glenda and Loman make plans to introduce everyone. 
 
Loman is sure his grown kids will love Glenda. She’s friendly and smart and loves animals, including Bert, the family parrot. When his daughter hatches a plan to reunite her divorced parents, Loman has to make a difficult choice—alienate his daughter or give up on his relationship with Glenda.


Loman rolled up his sleeves and joined Glenda at the cleaning station. She mouthed a thank you then pointed to the rubber gloves meant for the process. She wrapped the first little female in a towel and asked Loman to hold her while she cleaned its ears. The pup’s yelping brought on a mournful serenade from the litter. 
 
“You’re gonna feel so much better when this pretty lady gets you all cleaned up,” Loman told the pup in his arms. 
 
Glenda stopped cleaning and looked at him with a broad smile. When was the last time anyone called me pretty lady?
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Jackie Marilla writes contemporary romance from the Hawaiian Islands and beyond. She and her husband live on a macadamia nut farm on the island of Hawai’i where they feed a clowder of cats and a flock of hodgepodge chickens. In a past life, she was an elementary school teacher.
 
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~ Book Two ~
Love is Always Paws-able by Joanne Jaytanie
 
 
 
Second chances at life, love, and a forever home don’t come every day. 
 
Faith Daniels leaves a successful Silicon Valley career to follow her life’s dream: in Cedar Grove she builds a foster home for unwanted and abused dogs. She knows dogs have the ability to love even after being abandoned. Abandoned by her fiancé and friends, Faith wishes she could learn to love and trust again. 
 
Tanner Keen leaves behind the stress of his multi-million dollar advertising firm to save his life. He needs peace and quiet. So when a friend asks him to help a small town animal shelter, the opportunity seems perfect. 
 
But all is not peaceful at the shelter in Cedar Grove. Can Faith and Tanner discover the deceit in others and still find trust in each other? 
 
Love’s always paws-able.


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Joanne was born and raised in Sherburne, New York, a quaint village surrounded by dairy farms and rolling hills. From the moment she could read she wanted to explore the world. During her college years she slowly crept across the country, stopping along the way in Oklahoma, California, and finally Washington State, which she now proudly calls home. She lives with her husband and Dobermans, in their home located on the Olympic Peninsula with a panoramic view of the Olympic Mountains.
 
Joanne writes romantic suspense, paranormal, and contemporary romance. She loves to submerge herself in the world of her characters, to live and breathe their lives and marvel at their decisions and predicaments. She enjoys a wide variety of books including paranormal, suspense, thriller, and of course romance.
 
Joanne is a member of Romance Writers of America, and past President of Peninsula Romance Writers, which was Debbie Macomber’s home chapter.
 
 
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~ Book Three ~
Love Again
by Angela Ford
 
 
 
Madi Wilson’s life was perfect. Or so she thought. Until her husband of thirty-five years left her. Alone in a big house with no one to love, she decides to volunteer at the local no-kill animal shelter. The shelter and a Puggle in need of love and a home begin to fill that void. 
 
Dr. Noah Felton accepts an offer and moves to Cedar Grove after his wife of thirty years left him. A colleague introduces him to the local shelter, and Madi. 
 
Noah and Madi get to know each other while working on a project for the shelter. They discover it is never wrong to love again. You just have to love the wrong person first.


“Are you feeling okay tonight Noah? You seem a little flushed.”
 
Madi touched his arm gently. The concern in her eyes calmed him.
 
“I’m fine, just a little nervous.” He admitted through a hearty chuckle.
 
“About what”
 
Noah took Madi’s hand in his. His thumb rubbed along the palm of her hand.
 
“To ask you out”
 
He said it. Not the way he’d planned. He wondered how pathetic he sounded.
 
“Out, like a date?”
 
He smirked and then nodded like a young bashful boy. Madi made him feel young; young at heart. “If it’s too soon or you feel rushed, no worries; I don’t want to scare you away. I enjoy spending time with you. I’d like to take you out on a proper date, that is, if you’ll have this old bugger?”
 
“That is so sweet. It feels like we’ve been together always. I enjoy our time together. You are a true gentleman. I like the old fashioned way. And you are not an old bugger.”
 
“Is that a yes?”
 
Noah anticipated her answer.
 
“Yes, I’d love an old-fashioned date.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Angela Ford originates from Nova Scotia…Canada’s Ocean Playground!
 
Her love of the ocean and sunsets are always in her heart and give her inspiration. Her love for words keeps her turning the page. She is never without a book, whether she’s reading or writing. Now residing in Ontario, Angela works in Finance – numbers by day – words by night. Her dedication to volunteer and involvement with cyber safety seminars gave her an Award of Distinction and sparked the idea for her first book Closure – suspense with a dash of romance that hit the best- selling Action/Adventure and Women’s Fiction. Angela continued this FBI suspense with Forbidden and will deliver the final of the series in 2015. She also writes contemporary romance, sometimes sweet…sometimes spicy and sometimes with a dash of suspense. Unforgettable Kiss delivers a spicy romance with a dash of suspense. Blind Tasting of The Love List series and The Christmas Wreath of the Forever Christmas series are sweet reads. 2015 kicked off with a new Romantic Suspense Surrender.
 
Between two jobs, being a mom with a home always filled with young adults and rather interesting stories; she is lucky to have one very patient and understanding man. But it is the furry family members who rule the house – a Puggle (Pug/Beagle), a new Chug puppy (Pug/Chihuahua) and two loveable cats. Every possible quiet moment she finds, she treasures and just writes about the moments to come. Angela is an avid reader of romance, a member of the RWA, KOD (Kiss of Death – Suspense Chapter) and Mississauga Writers Group. You can follow her at BTGN www.bookstogonow.com or visit her website/blog Romantic Escapes at http://www.angelafordauthor.com to connect with her on her social network sites. She loves to hear from her readers – they keep her smiling!
 
 
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~ Book Four ~
Champagne and Catnip by Amanda Ward
 
 
 
Dr Dan Livingstone has had a not so secret crush on Yorkshire lass Caryn Fielding since she started working at the shelter. Taking his courage in both hands, he asks her out on a date. To his delight she agrees. 
 
As a retired midwife, Caryn has had to deal with heartbreak on a grand scale. Shutting herself off from the rest of the world bar her volunteer work at the shelter, Caryn finds a measure of comfort as she cares for the cats and kittens there. Could dating Dan lead to disaster? 
 
As their relationship deepens, Caryn’s secrets and anxieties are revealed. Falling in love is never without its ups and downs, but together love really can conquer all. No matter how old you are.


‘Well that’s odd,” Dan murmured, more to himself. He walked over to Caryn, crouched down and tapped her on the shoulder. She shot to her feet, dislodging a couple of fur balls, but Dan caught them before they landed.
 
“What the hell do you think you are doing creeping up on people like that?” she accused, all but snatching the kittens back from him. “Did that nasty man give you a fright?” Caryn crooned, nuzzling them.
 
“I called your name several times, but you didn’t answer me. I’m sorry if I frightened you,” he apologized, holding his hand out.
 
“I’m―”
 
“Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” Caryn interjected, raising an eyebrow. 
 
Dan winced at the pun.
 
“I gather you’ve heard that a few times?” she guessed shaking his hand.
 
At the tingle he felt from her touch, he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. Reluctantly, Dan let go. “More than a few.”
 
“So Dr Livingstone―”
 
“Dan.”
 
“Okay Dan. Is there a problem? I don’t think any of the cats are ill.” Caryn tilted her head back and looked up at him. Her eyes blinked a few times through her owl-like glasses, her gaze never leaving his face.
 
“Not at all. I was asked to give these fur balls a once-over.”
 
“Of course. I’m no expert on cats, but I would hazard a guess that based on their eyes still shut, they can’t be more than a week old.”
 
“Mom nursing them OK?” Dan took one of the mewling kittens, and began his checks.
 
“Yes, from what I’ve observed she’s feeding all five of them without complications.”
 
“That’s good.” Dan gave the family the once-over, placing them back on the blanket. Immediately the kittens snuffled off in search of food.
 
Dan washed his hands again. “So” he began, at a loss for what to say, when in fact he really wanted to ask her out for a coffee―or dinner.
 
“A needle pulling thread?” Caryn countered. Her gaze was still fixed firmly on his face, as if searching for something.
 
“You aren’t from the States are you?” Dan wondered at her accent.
 
Caryn shook her head. “No sorry. I’m a Yorkshire lass, but I married an American and have lived here for twenty years now.”
 
“Oh right,” Dan replied, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his chinos. So she was married. His glance slid to her hands searching for signs of a wedding ring. No ring on her left hand. There was a thin diamond hoop on her right hand though.
 
“Before you leave, may I give you a piece of advice?”
 
“Sure.” 
 
“Remind the teenager you are with not to make assumptions. Just because I prefer to volunteer with the cats does not make me ‘the crazy cat lady.’ ”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Amanda is originally from Bexleyheath, Kent in England. Born in 1971 she lives in Bedfordshire with her husband Matt, three children and two rather mad moggies.
 
A proud member of the Romance Novelist’s Association, she is an author with Books To Go Now Publishing and Hot Ink Press. Amanda writes romance novels featuring the hero and heroine in their forties and fifties and more often with a quirky twist added to the tale.
 
A fountain of useless knowledge about the Royal Families of Europe and history in General, Amanda’s bookshelves are packed to the brim with romances, historical biographies and Amish/inspirational fiction. 
 
As a self confessed fan of Doris Day, Amanda can often be found in the quietness of an afternoon on the sofa watching one of her many dvds with a pot of tea and digestive biscuits.
 
Amanda also has more than a slight fondness for The Big Bang Theory, Gilmore Girls, The Waltons and The Marvel Universe, as well as a huge fan of Dr Who!
 
 
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