Showing posts with label Excerpt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Excerpt. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 2, 2025

Tour Stop/Giveaway: The Champagne Crush by Caroline O'Connell

The Champagne Crush
Caroline O’ Connell
(Les Femmes Series)
Publication date: September 16th 2025
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

For fans of Emily In Paris (on Netflix). “Pop the cork on this sparkling romance where champagne dreams and career schemes collide in the vineyards of Napa and the glamour of New York. Catherine Reynolds is ready to reinvent herself, but a flirty CEO, fizzing ambition, and a splash of betrayal shake up her plans. From vineyard drama to high-stakes PR, love and bubbles rise to the top. Perfect for fans of witty banter, slow-burn tension, and second chances with a twist.” —Los Angeles Book Review

Catherine Reynolds has enjoyed a life of luxury, but her diplomat parents have cut her off financially, leaving her flat broke. She is determined to turn things around and gain her independence—so, when an old family friend offers her a lifeline as a PR consultant for his sparkling wine company, she jumps at the chance. But working with Chris McDermott, the company’s sexy, stubborn president, is anything but easy.

A purist at heart, Chris clashes with Catherine’s glitzy marketing flair; still, the chemistry between them is undeniable. As they travel from New York to Napa, Paris, and the Champagne region of France, their partnership blossoms amid high-stakes industry rivalries and a launch that could make or break them.

When sabotage threatens to shatter their dreams, Catherine must dig deep to prove her worth. With the dazzling unveiling of their new sparkling wine in Bordeaux in jeopardy, will she and Chris overcome the challenges of the past and present to secure their future—and find love in the process?

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

EXCERPT:

Scene in the Champagne Region of France.

Catherine rode up front with Frédéric. The short drive from Trianon to Hautvillers, a picturesque “high village,” took them up a narrow, winding road barely changed for centuries. Along the route, they passed well-preserved ancient buildings, some displaying forged-iron signs from a different era. Frédéric pulled up to the Abbey of Hautvillers. The small historic church overlooked fields of vineyards in the valley below.

“For Champenois,” Frédéric said, “this is considered the birthplace of champagne. Other regions were experimenting with sparkling wine, but this was the place in France, in Champagne.”

He led them to a patio where an ice bucket and three flutes sat on a small table. “Let’s take a moment to savor a good French champagne, while I tell the story.” He pulled a bottle of Moët’s Dom Pérignon out of the ice bucket and opened it. “It’s appropriate to drink this champagne, since Moët & Chandon named their prestige blend after Dom Pérignon.” He filled the flutes. “Let’s toast.”

Frédéric began. In 1668, a young Benedictine monk, Pierre Pérignon, became cellarmaster of the Abbey at Hautvillers. Dom was a title given to certain Benedictine monks, so he was called Dom Pérignon. At the time, the abbey was making still wine.

Hautvillers, in the Falaises de Champagne, has a cool northern climate. Pérignon noticed when the weather turned warm in spring some bottles of wine became effervescent. By accident, they had gone through a second fermentation, creating bubbly wine. Through trial and error, Pérignon determined that wine yeast went dormant in cold temperatures. In spring, the remaining leftover yeast initiated another fermentation, creating the bubbles.

“We’re talking about a lot of bubbles,” Frédéric said. He explained the bottles couldn’t withstand the additional pressure. Many bottles shattered or the wood plugs popped out, causing spillage. Eventually, Dom Pérignon came up with a cork plug to hermetically seal the bottles, trapping the bubbles in.

“There were still many broken bottles,” Frédéric laughed, “until they devised a way to make stronger bottles.” Future champagne producers learned how to create the millions of bubbles in each bottle by adding yeast to the blended still wine for the second fermentation.

“A sip to celebrate this monk and his gift to the world.” Frédéric lifted his flute. Chris thoroughly enjoyed Frédéric’s description. Catherine seemed mesmerized and made a few notes.

“Pérignon devoted his life to the abbey until he died in 1715,” Frédéric said. “And now, let’s pay our respects.” He led them into the small church to view Dom Pérignon’s tombstone.

They walked back to the car in contemplative silence. Frédéric checked his phone. “We have time to drive by the church in Reims, if you’d like to see it.”

“I’d love to,” Catherine said. “My parents were married at Notre-Dame de Paris, a similar Gothic cathedral.”

Traffic was light. They arrived in Reims, the capital of Champagne, thirty minutes later. Frédéric pulled up to the plaza in front of the cathedral. He gestured to the edifice. “This church has an important historical significance in France. Starting in the thirteenth century, it was chosen for the coronation of French kings”—he paused—“for six hundred years.”

“That’s a long time,” Chris said.

“One of the most famous coronations was the crowning of Charles the Seventh in 1429, attended by Joan of Arc. Jeanne d’Arc, in French,” he added. “Unfortunately, not long after, she was captured by the English and put to death for helping French fighters during the Hundred Years’ War.”

“Sad story,” Catherine said. She stepped out of the car and took a few photos of the facade.

When she got back in, Frédéric drove a few miles to their destination. It was clear the main business of Reims was champagne. Markers indicating numerous champagne houses, including Taittinger and Veuve Clicquot, popped up along the route. Right before the approach to Les Crayères, they passed a sign for Pommery Champagne.

Frédéric pulled into a parking spot. “We’re here.” He got out of the car to see them off.

“Thank you, Frédéric, for making us feel so welcome,” Chris said. “You’ve been a great host and guide.” Chris shook his hand, and Catherine and Frédéric shared air kisses on both cheeks.

“You’ll have to visit us in New York sometime,” Catherine said.

“It’s my dream to go to the US,” Frédéric said. “En tout cas, I will see you in Bordeaux in June.”

“Yes, in two months,” Chris said.

As they walked up to the entrance, Chris stifled the urge to hold Catherine’s hand. She gave him his tie and pulled out a multicolored scarf that she wrapped around her neck.

Chris admired the breathtaking classic French château set in the midst of lush parkland. Yves texted he was running late, so they opted to wait in the bar. After perusing the carte of champagnes by the glass, Chris chose Pommery. Appropriate, since the château was built by that family. A brochure on the table relayed the history.

Les Crayères was built for Louise Pommery, the Duchess of Polignac, in 1904. Decades later, it became a twenty-room château for guests, boasting a gourmet restaurant and luxurious rooms overlooking manicured gardens. One reviewer called it “a Versailles in miniature . . . the stuff of honeymoons and weekend-away liaisons.”

Their flutes were served cold, the way he liked it. They tapped glasses before taking their first sips, very much in sync, like a couple. Chris was starting to sag after a busy day preceded by an early run, but Catherine seemed like the Energizer bunny; that is, if said rabbit wore a short slim dress showcasing killer legs, which he now knew could run like the wind.

Catherine set her glass down. “This is good champagne. Smart choice for the setting. The Pommerys built a lovely château.”

“This place is pretty spectacular,” he agreed, then couldn’t resist adding, “I know who I want to bring here for the two-night stay I won in the auction.”

Excerpt from The Champagne Crush by Caroline O’Connell,
courtesy of SparkPress, an imprint of The Stable Book Group.

Author Bio:

CAROLINE O’CONNELL has written five travel guides and numerous travel articles for magazines, newspapers, and websites. Her Romance In Paris guide has won widespread praise: “There is no better person to guide you through Paris than Caroline” — Peter Greenberg, the Travel Detective, radio host, and Travel Editor on CBS-TV. And Library Journal raved — “Reading this breezy but informative guide to Paris is like having a series of conversations with a well-traveled friend…”

Her debut novel, THE CHAMPAGNE CRUSH: A Romance Novel (Spark Press), is due out on September 16, 2025.

Website / Goodreads / X


GIVEAWAY!

Champagne for the Holidays Blitz


Thursday, January 16, 2025

Excerpt Reveal: You Can Leave Your Hat On

 

 

Title: You Can Leave Your Hat on 

Author: Deanndra Hall 

Genre:  Cozy Mystery/Murder Mystery 

Release Date:February 17, 2025  

Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC.


Another vision. Another crime. And the millions behind it.

Reluctant and (unfortunately) well-known psychic Maisey Friedman is in dire need of a break—a little rest and relaxation. Going on a girls' trips for the weekend will help her decompress and forget all the turmoil she's been embroiled in. After all, fancy dresses, Derby hats, and mint juleps with her friends can cure the blues.

But when she mistakenly places the wrong flowy hat on her head, Maisey regrets all of her weekend frivolity. Seeing a middle school teacher being thrown from a bridge to her death catapults Maisey and her husband, Aaron, into yet another murder investigation. This time, the key players just might be a little too powerful for Maisey and Aaron. A well-connected and corrupt murderer is one enemy the Friedmans don't want to tangle with. Can they find justice for the innocent teacher before time runs out?

AMAZON 

The next instant, she was lying on the pavement, staring up at the sky, with Cherilyn on one side of her and Carly on the other. “Maisey? Maisey! Are you okay? Hey, Maisey, honey, are you all right?” Carly was yelling, as though Maisey were deaf.

“You don’t have to scream. I can hear you,” Maisey whispered, groggy. She lay there for a minute before she managed to say, “Oh, no.”

“Oh no what? Are you sick and didn’t tell us?” Cherilyn barked.

“No. It’s happening again.” How, she wasn’t sure, but it was.

“What’s happening?” Carly asked.

“I saw … somebody. And something. But I don’t understand. I bought this hat new. It shouldn’t …” When she’d struggled to sitting, she picked up the hat, and her heart fell into her shoes. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Cherilyn demanded.

“This isn’t my hat. I picked up somebody else’s hat. It’s not mine. See? It’s got a really, really narrow ribbon for a band. Mine had a wide grosgrain ribbon. Shit, shit, shit. This is somebody else’s hat, and somebody died while they were wearing it.”

Carly planted her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I were.” Maisey struggled to stand, so Cherilyn and Carly helped her.



Deanndra Hall is a working author living in the far western end of the beautiful Bluegrass State with her husband of over 35 years and small menagerie of weird little dogs. When she’s not writing, she’s editing. When she’s doing neither of those two things, she’s having dinner with friends, spending time with family, kayaking, eating chocolate, drinking beer or moonshine, or looking for something that she put in the wrong place and can’t seem to find (which is pretty much everything she owns).

Amazon | BookBub

Tuesday, August 22, 2023

New Release Spotlight/Excerpt Tour: Shadow Dance by Christine Feehan

 


Shadow Dance, the next book in Christine Feehan's Shadow Riders Series, is here and here's a sneak peek into it.
Berkley Mass Market; on sale August 22, 2023

About the Book

Tensions and passions rise in the city that never sleeps in this propulsive novel in #1 New York Times bestselling author Christine Feehan’s Shadow Riders series.

As the head of the New York City Shadow Riders and his branch of the Ferraro family, Geno bears the weight of dual responsibilities on his broad shoulders. There’s nothing more important to Geno than protecting his territory and his famiglia. So when his own parents become the latest victims in a string of vicious murders, Geno is ready to go scorched earth. He thinks he has the assassin in his sights, but he’s unprepared for the firestorm their connection ignites....
 
Amaranthe Aubert’s lithe dancer’s body conceals a spine of steel. Even held captive and faced with the threat of lethal interrogation, she’s not about to cave under pressure. She had nothing to do with the murders, no matter what the ruthless man in front of her believes. But before Amara knows what’s happening, Geno connects to her in the shadows, stripping her bare of all artifice. Now, she has no way to hide her true reason for being in New York—and nowhere to run from the man who’s very presence steals the very breath from her lungs...


SHADOW DANCE Excerpt

 

She nodded, never looking away from his dark gaze. She did love his eyes. “I’m very sure. I’m not going to doubt us again.”

His smile was slow in climbing to his eyes, but when it reached them, it lit up the deep blue until her stomach began to perform loops and somersaults.

“You’re lethal to women, Geno.”

“Just to you, I promise.”

He cupped the back of her head gently and bent to brush his lips across hers, featherlight, before she could protest that she was wearing lipstick. As kisses went, it was fairly virtuous. It shouldn’t have made her heart pound like a drum out of control, but it did. He didn’t stop there. He shifted her, easily bringing her onto his lap, urging her to straddle his thighs.

Amaranthe knew better, but she couldn’t help herself. He mesmerized her. Large hands at her waist, he lifted her, and she settled one knee on either side of his thighs. His lips moved on hers again and again. Barely there. Whispering. Never hurrying. So light. Coaxing her with tenderness as if he knew everything she said was bravado. She was still afraid to go into his world with him.

Geno had kissed her with fire, but not like this. Not with tenderness. Not so she could taste raw emotion. He was giving her a gift—showing her how he felt. Her lips trembled beneath his. This was a terrifying moment even as she reveled in it. His chest was hard as it rose and fell against the softness of her breasts. His tongue slid along the seam of her lips, and her heart contracted.

I want you for myself, Danzatrice Ombra. You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted for me. The only woman I’ve looked at and known I had to have, or it would be no one. If you turn me down, there will be no arranged marriage. No children with another rider. You are my partner, Amaranthe. I feel it with every breath I take. Feel it, too. Want me the way I want you.

He whispered poetic words like that into her mind, and she knew she would never be able to resist him. It didn’t matter that he was so far out of her league, and she had no idea how to be with a man like him, she knew she couldn’t walk away from him.

She saw his absolute resolve. He meant every word he said. His life had been dictated to him, his every path, his every breath and step. He was done with giving every aspect of his life to everyone else. He would choose his wife. The woman he would marry. If he couldn’t have the woman he loved, he would choose to be alone. She saw that determination in him. When Geno made up his mind, he was absolute steel.

I’m so afraid I’ll embarrass you, Geno. I have no idea what to do or say around these people. I don’t belong with them.

His mouth brushed across her lips again. Gently. Coaxing. So tender her stomach did a slow somersault and her sex clenched. She held herself very still, frozen in place, but the need for flight was paramount. Every inch of the front of her body was pressed tightly against him. His masculine scent enveloped her so that each time she inhaled, she took him deep into her lungs.

You don’t need to belong with them, Amara. You belong with me. I’m the one who needs you, not them. I don’t belong. Haven’t you noticed? I’m not the same as the rest of them and I make them uneasy. I’ve never minded, but I don’t want you to feel that way. I don’t want you uneasy around me.

How could he think that? Did she make him think it was him? She slid her palms up his chest and linked her fingers behind his neck, her mouth moving under his in answer.

It isn’t you I’m afraid of, Geno. I love being with you, and I’m comfortable with you. It’s the others in your world.

His teeth teased at her lower lip, tugging very gently while his palm curled around the nape of her neck and his thumb swept along her cheek.

Give yourself to me, la mia danzatrice ombra. I swear, you’ll always be safe with me. I’ll make you happy.

There was no resisting him. She didn’t even want to resist him. He was right.

I want you to know you will always come first. Always.

Excerpted from Shadow Dance by Christine Feehan Copyright © 2023 by Christine Feehan. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.


About the Author

credit to Christine’s author photo goes to Michael Greene


Christine Feehan is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of seven different series including the ongoing Carpathian series, GhostWalker series, Leopard series, Shadow series,  Torpedo Ink series, and two stand-alone romantic suspense novels. Learn more online at www.christinefeehan.com.

Wednesday, September 25, 2019

Book Spotlight- When the Marquess was Mine by Caroline Linden


When the was Mine by Caroline Linden
On Sale: September 24, 2019
ISBN: 9780062913593
E-ISBN: 9780062913609
Digital Audio ISBN: 9780062963123

Cover Copy:
In the game of love…

Georgiana Lucas despises the arrogant and cruel Marquess of Westmorland even before learning that he’s won the deed to her friend Kitty’s home in a card game. Still, Georgiana assures Kitty the marquess wouldn’t possibly come all the way to Derbyshire to throw them out—until he shows up, bloody and unconscious. Fearing that Kitty would rather see him die, Georgiana blurts out that he’s her fiancé. She’ll nurse the hateful man back to health and make him vow to leave and never return. The man who wakes up, though, is nothing like the heartless rogue Georgiana thought she knew…

You have to risk it all

He wakes up with no memory of being assaulted—or of who he is. The bewitching beauty tending him so devotedly calls him Rob and claims she’s his fiancée even as she avoids his touch. Though he can’t remember how he won her hand, he’s now determined to win her heart. But as his memory returns and the truth is revealed, Rob must decide if the game is up—or if he’ll take a chance on a love that defies all odds.

Buy Links:


Excerpt:
Chapter One
1819

It was to be a bacchanal for the ages.
As Heathercote remarked, a man only turned twenty-nine once. Marlow pointed out that a man also only turned twenty-eight, or thirty, once as well, but they were well used to ignoring Marlow’s odd points of reason, and this one was promptly forgotten.
Heathercote planned the entire affair, inviting the most dashing, daring rogues and scoundrels in London. He declared it to be the invitation of the month, and that he’d turned away several fellows for lacking wit, style, or both. “You mean they aren’t up to your standard of mayhem,” said Westmorland, whose birthday it was, to which Heathercote mimed tipping his hat in acknowledgment.
After a raucous dinner at White’s, they decamped for the theater. The production was well under way when they invaded the pit in search of amusement. By the time the show ended, they had drunk a great deal of brandy, thrown oranges at the stage, and lost Clifton to the company of a prostitute.
Everyone’s memories ran a bit ragged after that, with vague recollections of singing in the streets and Marlow casting up his accounts somewhere in Westminster, but eventually they settled at the Vega Club. It was so late, the manager tried to dissuade them from play. Mr. Forbes knew every one of them could wager for hours, and the Vega Club closed its doors at dawn.
But Heathercote persuaded him to let them in and to give them the whist salon all to themselves. “We’ll leave by noon,” he promised, patting Forbes on the chest as he slid a handful of notes into the man’s hand. His words were remarkably steady for a man who’d been drinking for eight hours. Grim-faced, Forbes let them in, where they commandeered the main table and called for yet more wine.
A few intrepid souls followed them from the club proper. Forbes tried to stop them at the door, but Forester recognized one and waved them in. “We don’t mind winning their money,” he said with a hiccup.
They played whist, then switched to loo. One loser was dared to drink off the contents of his full flask in one go, which he did. The room filled with cigar smoke and ribald language, and the wagers grew extravagant. Marlow won a prize colt off Forester. Heathercote wagered his new phaeton and ended up with someone’s barouche. Sackville won the largest pot of the night, and everyone pelted him with markers.
And then one of the hangers-on spoiled it. He had the look of a country fellow new to London, with an arrogant bluster that was initially amusing but eventually turned annoying. He’d played well enough, winning a bit and losing with colorful curses that made the rest of them roar with laughter. But it became abruptly clear that Sir Charles Winston was in over his head when he wagered his house.
Marlow laughed. Heathercote picked up the scribbled note Winston had put forth and read it with one brow arched. “Can’t wager property, Winslow.”
The man was already ruddy from drink, and now he turned scarlet. “Can so! Your fellow wagered a horse.”
“Horses are portable,” said Forester, his Liverpool accent bleeding through. “Houses are not.”
“Houses are worth more!”
“Aye, too much more.” Heathercote flicked the note back across the table. “Markers.”
“I haven’t got any more markers,” muttered the younger man. For a moment everyone focused in surprised silence on the empty space in front of him. None of them had run out.
“Then fold your hand,” Forester told him. “You’re out!”
Winston’s chin set stubbornly. His mate tried to slide some markers toward him, but he angrily shoved them back. “Give me a chance to win it back.”
“All the more reason to walk away, if you’ve lost ‘em all.” Marlow waved one hand, nearly toppling out of his seat. Mr. Forbes, watching grimly from the corner, came forward. “Forbes, Windermere is done.”
“Sir Charles,” murmured the manager. “Perhaps it’s time to go.”
“Not yet!” Winston scowled at them all, shaking off his friend’s quiet attempts to get him to fold. “Not now, Farley! They got a chance to turn their luck. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Luck is like the wind,” said a new voice. Nicholas Dashwood, the owner of the Vega Club, stepped out of the shadows. “It rarely turns propitiously.”
Winston stubbornly sank lower in his seat. “I deserve ‘nother chance.”
Heathercote slung his arms over the back of his chair. “Well, West? What say you? Shall we let him stay and wager away everything he’s got?”
Lounging in his seat, the Marquess of Westmorland looked up in irritation. “Really ought to go, Winsmore.”
“Wins-less, more like,” snickered Marlow.
Winston sat up straighter in his seat. “Please, my lord.”
“Oh, let him ruin himself,” muttered Forester, shuffling his cards restlessly.
The marquess lifted one shoulder. “Damned if I care.”
“Sir Charles,” said Dashwood evenly, “do not wager what you cannot afford to lose.”
Winston scooped up the scribbled paper and added a line, signing his name with a flourish. “I won’t, sir.”
But he did. Within four hands, he’d won a bit and then lost it all—including the deed. Suddenly he did not look so belligerent or so stubborn. He looked young and quite literally green, staring at the winning hand, lying on the table.
“Should have listened,” said the unsympathetic Heathercote. “Should have left.”
Winston puffed up furiously. “Should have known better than to play with the likes of you!”
“Di’n’t y’know that before you sa’ down?” Marlow’s words slurred together. “Stupid bloody fool!”
“That’s my home!”
“And you risked it at loo!” Heath made a derisive noise. “Idiot.”
Winston was the color of beets. “Don’t call me that.”
Sackville raised one brow. “No? ’S not your home anymore.” He reached out and plucked the scrawled paper from the pile of markers and examined it, although his eyes never quite managed to focus on it. “It ‘pears to be West’s.”
His friends howled with laughter. “He doesn’t need it,” cried Winston. He made a convulsive grab for the paper before his lone remaining friend caught his arm. “He’s got a dozen houses!”
“Set it up as a brothel, West,” suggested Forester. “And give all your mates discounted fees.”
“Free!” yelped Marlow with a wheezing laugh.
Winston drew a furious breath, but instead of continuing the fight he turned and rushed from the room, rather unsteadily; he wrestled with the door, and then almost tripped on his way out, causing more howls of laughter from the table. His friend helped him back onto his feet before the door closed on them both.
“Who invited him?” asked Heathercote in disdain.
“Marlow.”
“Ballocks,” mumbled Marlow, putting his head down on the table. “Never did. Was Forester.”
Forester made a rude gesture. “I vouched for the other man, Farley.”
“Your friends are all bad ton,” said Sackville.
Forester’s face tightened. He rose and swung his wineglass into the air in a toast, spilling some. “Thank you all for a most exciting evening, gentlemen.” Pointedly he bowed only to Viscount Heathercote and Lord Westmorland. Sackville repaid him with a rude gesture at Forester’s back.
Heathercote protested, but Forester waved him off and left. With Marlow asleep on the table and Sackville still giggling drunkenly to himself, Westmorland placed his hands on the table, hesitated as if gathering strength, then heaved himself to his feet. “The carriages, Dashwood.”
Stone-faced, the owner left. Westmorland surveyed the table. “Did I win the last?”
“Aye,” said Heathercote with a wide yawn.
“Credit it all, Forbes,” said the marquess. “God above, I’m tired.”
As expressionless as his employer, the manager stepped forward. With an air of distaste, he picked up the deed promise and held it out. “I cannot credit this, my lord.”
West stared at it. “Damn. Right.” He stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket and staggered out into the morning sunlight with Heathercote, never guessing the trouble that wagered deed was about to cause him.
 About the Author:


Caroline Linden was born a reader, not a writer. She earned a math degree from Harvard University and wrote computer code before discovering that writing fiction was far more fun. Since then, the Boston Red Sox have won the World Series three FOUR times, which is not related but still worth mentioning. Her books have been translated into seventeen languages, and have won the NEC-RWA Reader's Choice Award, the Daphne du Maurier Award, the NJRW Golden Leaf Award, and RWA's RITA Award. She lives in New England.








Thursday, April 7, 2016

Book Spotlight~ NJ Walters' Wolf on a Mission

Wolf on a Mission
Samhain Publishing
Paranormal Romance


When love runs wild, there are no limits.
Salvation Pack, Book 6

Full-blooded werewolf Elias Gallagher, sole guardian of his half-breed teenage nephews, is all too aware that the world is not a safe place for a werewolf on his own. Doubly so for half-breeds.

He brings his nephews to North Carolina to check out the Salvation Pack’s openness to half-breeds. He never expected to find a mate—the fully human mother of a young boy—while there.

After enduring one tragedy after another over the past two years, Sue Walsh is focused solely on earning a living and raising her five-year-old son. With her ex suddenly demanding custody, the last complication she wants or needs is an attraction to a ruggedly handsome stranger.

But the sexual pull between them is too strong to be denied. And when there’s trouble with the local hunters, Elias will do whatever it takes to protect the people he loves. Even if it means revealing his biggest secret.

EXCERPT:

Sue put away the last of the dishes. The barbecue had been a huge success. Billy had eaten his burger and several marshmallows, and even laughed at the antics of a squirrel that had chattered endlessly from his perch in a nearby tree.

He’d stayed outside on the back porch to play while she’d cleared away and washed up. Even though it was still light out, Billy should have already had his bath. “Relax. It’s summer,” she reminded herself. He’d have to be on a stricter schedule once school started. They both would. Better to let them both enjoy these last days of summer.

She glanced out the window at the back porch. Her heart skipped a beat and she tossed aside the dishtowel. Billy had been there only a minute ago. She hurried to the backdoor and pulled it open. “Billy?” His toy trucks and cars had been abandoned and he was nowhere in sight.

“Don’t panic. Don’t panic.” He had to be here somewhere. “Billy, where are you? Billy?” She turned in a circle, taking in the entire yard. There was no sign of her son.

“The creek.” He liked to play by the water. She ran toward the path, her heart pounding and chest aching. “Billy!” He knew he wasn’t supposed to go off on his own. This was the first time he’d ever done such a thing. “Billy!”

A vision from the past slammed into her. She could still remember coming out to visit Anny that fateful Saturday morning and finding her friend’s bloody body. The paramedics had saved Anny’s life, but nothing had ever been the same again.

Sue kept her gaze on the path ahead of her and picked up her pace. “Billy!” she yelled. “Answer me.” Her phone was in the charger on the kitchen counter. She should have grabbed it in case she needed to call the sheriff’s office.

No, she wouldn’t think like that. She’d find Billy looking for frogs by the edge of the stream. Thankfully the water level was low at the end of the hot summer and her son could swim, or at least dog paddle.
She hurried around the final bend and her feet skidded to a halt. For one brief second, she was paralyzed, her limbs refusing to work. Then she broke free and started to move toward her son at a slow and steady pace.

Billy must have heard her coming, because he turned to her and smiled. “Doggy.” His joy was evident, but she couldn’t share it. His doggy was huge and was no dog at all. It was a wolf.

A wolf had attacked and almost killed Anny almost two years ago. Was this the same beast? Sue reached down and grabbed a decent-sized rock. She’d played baseball in high school and knew she had a decent aim. At this distance, she couldn’t miss. “Get away from him, Billy. You know better than to touch a strange animal.”

Her son frowned at her. “He likes me.”

As if he understood her fears, the animal whined and licked Billy’s cheek.

Obviously, wherever this animal had come from, he wasn’t vicious. She was lowering her hand when she realized the dog or wolf or whatever it was, wasn’t alone. A man stepped out from behind a tree. No, not a man, a teenage boy. He was tall for his age, at least six feet, maybe more.

He held his hands out in front of him. “We didn’t mean any harm. Reece and I were just out exploring.”

“Reece?” Her fingers tightened around the rock.

He grinned and pointed at the creature sitting next to her son.

“Billy, come here.” She used her mom voice. The one Billy knew meant business. He sighed and reluctantly left the animal and came to stand beside her, dragging his feet all the way.

“Where did you come from?” she asked the teen. He might seem harmless, but she didn’t know him at all, and she knew everyone who lived within a fifty-mile radius of town, because at one time or another, everyone came through the diner where she worked.

He pointed off in the distance. “We’re camping and just decided to go exploring. We didn’t mean any harm.”

Now she was starting to feel a little ridiculous. She lowered the rock but didn’t drop it. “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

The teen grinned. “You sound like our uncle.”

Sue took a good look at the teen. He was a handsome young man with his brown hair and blue eyes. There was something about him she liked, in spite of the fact he was a stranger. “You should listen to your uncle.”
The wolf growled and Sue took a step back.

“Knock it off, Reece,” he told the animal. “I’m Sage Gallagher.”

She wasn’t quite ready to introduce herself. “Is that a wolf?”

Sage nodded. “Yeah, it is, but he won’t hurt you. Honest.”

The hair on the back of her neck rose and a shiver of fear raced down her spine as a man stepped out of the woods. He was big. At least six-two with short brown hair and dark eyes. He also wasn’t wearing a shirt. It was impossible not to notice his broad shoulders, the dusting of dark hair on his chest and the bands of muscles that rippled on his abdomen.

It was also impossible not to notice the scowl on his face.

He pinned her with a ferocious glare. “What the hell is going on?”

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N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.


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Monday, November 16, 2015

Cover Reveal~ A Man in Uniform Anthology


Title:   Uniform: A Man in Uniform MM Bundle
Authors:  Brenda Cothern, H.L. Holston & Eleanor Bruce, Whitley Gray, E.M. Leya, Ethan Stone, Sara York
Release Date:  November 30, 2015
Genre:  M/M
Tags:  Military, Seal, Cop, Police, bundle, gay, GLBT
Heat Level (1 being no sexual content, 5 being erotica): 4
Pairing (Male/Female, Male/Male, Female/Female, Ménage): Male/Male
Length: 198 pdf pages
Purchase Links (Publisher site, Goodreads, Amazon, etc…):
https://www.goodreads.com/review/new/27389167-uniform

Meet the men in uniform. These are everyday men who put on a uniform and become our heroes. Through good times and bad, they are there to save the day, sacrificing more than most of us can imagine as they put their lives on hold in service to us.

Love doesn't wait until life is calm, and sometimes it's the pressure of the job that throws two men together. Under stress and demand, they find solace in each other, forming bonds that can't be ignored.

Follow our heroes as they fight not only for what is right and just, but also for their hearts and the men they love.

Teaser Excerpt:

Training Buds
Sara York

Dixon Carter’s heart shattered into a million pieces, his whole world imploded as he watched his husband make the moves on another guy. They weren’t just holding hands; they were kissing out in the open, not even trying to hide their love affair. Of course Dixon shouldn’t be here as far as Bryan was concerned. He’d flown home on leave, hoping to surprise Bryan, but he was the one who’d gotten the surprise of his life. This was supposed to be a big weekend for them. He’d made it, been accepted into training that led up to him eventually going into the Basic Underwater Demolition SEAL training in Coronado, California. Bryan had said he’d wanted to move with him, but after seeing his husband shove his tongue down another guy’s throat, he wondered if anything the asshole had said had been true.
Dixon drew in a breath, thinking that nothing would ever be the same again. He shook his head, trying like hell to comprehend what was happening. Had he really seen Bryan and that stranger kiss? Why the hell would his husband do this to him? He watched, wondering if he were mistaken, but Bryan pulled the other man close again, kissing him like he meant it.  Dixon closed his eyes and tried not to fall apart. How the fuck was he supposed to recover from this? He and Bryan had been together for eight years, since their sophomore year in high school when Bryan had moved to town. Bryan had stood by him through basic training, but he guessed Bryan had a different view of what commitment meant.
Dixon’s heart twisted as he grabbed his pack and lifted his hand to catch a cab, but he lowered his arm, shaking his head. He wasn’t going to run from this. He sure as hell wouldn’t leave his stuff with Bryan. No chance in hell would he allow the fucker to continue using his truck, or taking drives in the restored Mustang Dixon had worked on since high school.
He trailed Bryan and the new guy to their apartment, watching as the pair kissed and hugged before going through the front door. He waited on the street a few minutes before following them upstairs to the third floor of the walkup he and Bryan had picked out when he’d been on leave a year ago. God, just the thought of Bryan in their place, kissing that guy, made him want to hit something.
He slid the key in the door, hoping to catch them, and praying he didn’t. When the door swung wide he didn’t hear any sound for the first few seconds. Relief flowed through him, and then he heard someone grunting, the sound twisting through his gut, making him sick. Dixon knew he and Bryan were over for good.
Pain lanced his heart and he tried to breathe, but the air was too thick and his chest ached. He drew in a second breath, this one almost taking him to his knees as Bryan cried out like he was really enjoying himself.
How long? How many others?
The questions played through his mind as he moved to the bookshelf that held the signed baseball his grandfather had given him before he passed away. His bills were in a neat stack beside the ball and he grabbed those too. The TV and stereo weren’t important to him. Besides, he’d be living in the barracks once he moved to Coronado so things like TV’s didn’t really matter much.
While he was alone in the den, listening to his husband and some stranger get it on, he looked around the place, noticing the sweatshirt he’d given Bryan for his birthday tossed to the floor and the Navy mug he’d shipped for Christmas chipped and holding pens instead of being used as a vessel to drink from. The end of this relationship hurt like crazy. He couldn’t believe how painful anything associated with Bryan could be. The man had promised him love, companionship, and forever. Bryan was here taking care of things at home, but he’d really just been playing house with whomever decided to fill his bed.



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Book Tour Stop/Giveaway: Cops in Space by Gail Koger

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions . Gail Koger will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN gift card to a ...