Friday, October 30, 2015

Win a $50 GC - Jewell by Tina DeSalvo

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Tina will be awarding a $50 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click ont he tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Once invited into New Orleans’ historic mansions to evaluate prized antiques, Dr. Jewell Duet held a coveted professorship at a top university. With her deep knowledge of Louisiana history and antiquities, she was the go-to person for anyone requiring professional appraisals. But, one hasty decision cost her both her reputation and possibly her freedom. Now, as she waits to discover if her future includes prison, Jewell knows that taking the job at Sugar Mill is necessary if she is to support her beloved grandmother who has advanced dementia.

Charming, sexy lawyer Beau Bienvenu's attraction to the intriguing historian vies with his distrust of her motives. Beau has one simple goal when it comes to the family that rescued him and made him part of their clan…protect them at all costs. He doesn't trust Jewell, nor her reason for taking the lowly job at Sugar Mill Plantation. What is she really up to? Is it possible Jewell and her quirky grandmother are there to try to profit from a Bienvenu family mystery? If so, both women are out of luck.

Jewell and Beau are at odds about almost everything. The only things they agree on are that family is everything…and that their mutual attraction is inconvenient.

Hope, Love and Second Chances Continue in the heart of Cajun Country
Enjoy an exclusive excerpt: This man with the deep, easy voice was tall, lean and impossibly handsome with eyes as light green as a barn cat’s. He was wearing an untucked New Orleans Saints jersey and faded jeans. He looked down at Jewell and smiled. Her stomach did an odd little flip.

“You’re not holding two extra-large meat-lovers’ thin crust pizzas and cheesy breadsticks.” He looked at Mimi and grinned a good-humored grin. “Neither are you.” He leaned against the doorframe and looked at Jewell’s bright green rubber boots with the red ladybugs imprinted on them. "Cute boots."

She blushed, and forced herself to stand still and not shuffle. She never had been embarrassed for wearing these boots or any of the two dozen others with fun designs she owned, so why now? His tone wasn’t mocking or demeaning. It was just…well, playful. Flirty. Was Elli’s husband flirting with her? Now she was annoyed. "It’s good for dealing with whatever dirt and trash I have to step on,” she said, eyes steady on his.

"Which apparently is an issue when delivering pizza.” He nodded toward Mimi. “Which you clearly are not doing. You two are not the pizza delivery boys, huh?”

Mimi shook her head. “We’re not boys. Are you blind?”

Jewell’s eyes widened but the corner of his lips twitched telling her he was amused by Mimi’s response.

“No ma’am. I can see just fine.”

About the Author:
Tina DeSalvo enjoys using her imagination, humor, empathy and personal experiences to turn characters and situations into books that she hopes will entertain readers. Her first book, Elli, brought her in close contact with so many readers with whom she has loved sharing stories, laughs, tears and hugs. Tina has always been inspired by the people she meets and by hearing their personal journeys, not to mention the people she just observes along the way…so, watch out. You could be a character in her next book!

Tina is married to her handsome Cajun hero, and they live in Louisiana. They have two sons, a wonderful daughter (in-law) and four delightful grandchildren.

If you'd like to know more about Tina DeSalvo, including info on her newest work, latest contests, where she’s speaking or having a book signing, where she gets her ideas, or to see her photos from when she meets her cherished readers…please visit her website.

Facebook ~ Twitter ~ Instagram

Buy the book at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

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Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Win a $20 GC - The Christmas Cradle by Charlotte Hubbard

ET_TourBanner_TheChristmasCradle copy

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Charlotte will be awarding $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour and read more of the book.

MediaKit_BookCover_TheChristmasCradleFor the peaceful town of Willow Ridge, November presents an early holiday surprise. Stranded in the snow, 18-year-old Lena Esh and her boyfriend Josiah Witmer need more than a place to stay for the night. Lena defied her strict family and their judgmental beliefs to run away with Josiah and have his baby. But she’s starting to wonder if he can prove as responsible as he is passionate. And she isn’t sure how—or if—they can ever find a place to truly call home.

Expecting their own miracle baby, Miriam and Ben Hooley rally the town to help the young couple, and Lena draws strength from their unexpected support. Though trouble may come calling, in this season of joyous rebirth, a little child will lead them. And two couples will see their dreams of forever family come true…

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt:

Josiah paused in the doorway, watching Hannah and Naomi Brenneman plate an order at the stove while Rebecca and Rhoda refilled coffee and chatted with customers in the dining room. He’d be hard pressed to match the efficiency of the Sweet Seasons’ breakfast and lunch shifts—mostly because the cooks and waitresses never exchanged cross words or glared at each other. Why were he and Savilla—and he and Lena—so often at odds?

“Glad to see ya, Josiah,” Miriam said as she returned to her work area. She dipped flour from a fifty-pound sack into a big bowl and began to cut lard into it. “Do the girls know you’re back?”

“Yeah—and I’ve once again cranked their handles in the wrong direction,” Josiah replied with a sigh. “I can’t believe Savilla thought I’d ducked out of catering the wedding. Her reaction to my selling our farm in Bloomfield was something to behold, too.”

Miriam sucked in her breath. “Ever thought about givin’ her and Lena some warning before ya do stuff like that? How would ya feel if Savilla up and left—and after the fact told ya she’d married somebody and wouldn’t be cookin’ with ya anymore?”

Josiah scowled. “She’d never do that! She refuses to date the old guy down the road who’s tried to court her.”

Miriam stopped mixing her piecrust. “Ya just don’t get it, do ya? If Savilla decided her chances were better with that old guy than with you—if she just took off—what would ya do, Josiah?” she demanded.

He blinked. If Savilla quit—for whatever reason—he couldn’t continue catering on the scale he’d become accustomed to. And running a supper shift without her would be impossible. But he suspected that wasn’t really the point Miriam was trying to make.

“Okay, so she’s reminded me that I have this habit of doing my own thing without consulting her,” Josiah admitted. To switch to a more comfortable subject, he gestured toward the big lumps beneath wet tea towels on the countertop. “What’s all this? Pie crust?”

“A bunch of us gals are havin’ a frolic here after we close this afternoon,” she explained. “We’ll bake Nora and Luke’s pies today, and I’ll make the wedding cake tomorrow.”

Once again Josiah was impressed by the level of cooperation among folks in Willow Ridge—and by the way Miriam always contributed time and ingredients. “Now tell me straight out. Will it be a problem to store my cooked meat in your fridges?” he asked. “I’ll have two whole hogs cooked by tomorrow around this time, and I’ll need some work space to bone them—and to prep the chickens and briskets.”

“Plenty of room to go around. We’re cartin’ the pies to the Brennemans’ shop in the morning,” Miriam replied. “I’ll be decoratin’ the cake in this corner, so that leaves the whole counter over there for ya. I want to see how ya do those pigs,” she added with a grin. Then she raised a purposeful eyebrow. “Hug your sister for speakin’ in your behalf. We’ve already cleared out a whole fridge for your meat.”

Suddenly overcome by Miriam’s good-hearted generosity, Josiah stooped to hug her. “Denki for—well, for lookin’ after me,” he said, surprised at how tight his voice sounded.

“Well, now,” Miriam murmured, patting his wrist with her floury hand. “This is kinda nice comin’ from you, Josiah.”

About the Author:MediaKit_AuthorPhoto_TheChristmasCradleDrawing upon her experiences in Jamesport, the largest Old Order Amish community in Missouri, longtime Missourian Charlotte Hubbard writes of simpler times and a faith-based lifestyle in her Seasons of the Heart series. Like her heroine, Miriam Lantz Hooley, Charlotte considers it her personal mission to feed people. Faith and family, farming and food preservation are hallmarks of her lifestyle. She’s a deacon, a dedicated church musician and choir member, and when she’s not writing, she loves to try new recipes, crochet, and sew. Charlotte now lives in Minnesota with her husband and their border collie.

Website ~ Facebook

Buy the book at Barnes and Noble or Amazon.

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Tuesday, October 27, 2015

The Writer's View: Nikki Jackson

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Nikki Jackson will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

The View Inside My Writing Space

This is the view inside my writing space – the desk at my office. I get a significant amount of writing done here. I come into the office an hour early each morning just so I can spend that quiet time writing. I’m here during my lunch hour, writing. My writing muse are my three imaginary friends; Tori, AJ and Kalea. They’re also the main characters of my first novel – The Heart’s Journey Home. I keep their photo in a frame on my desk to remind me that there’s more to me and my life than my regular nine to five job. I keep a copy of my book here at the office to remind me that my dreams can come true. They are each an encouragement and continued inspiration.

The View Outside My Window

The immediate view outside my window is the street outside my house and the Detroit River outside the window where I work. If I were so inclined that could easily be all the view I would ever see in my lifetime. But I was never so inclined. The real view outside my window is the view of me in the world. I wanted to see the Grand Canyon from the ground up so I went. I wanted to do Missions with my church in China, Thailand, Pakistan and Peru so I went there too. And because I went the view outside my window grew exponentially! And guess what I discovered? How I viewed me and my world grew also.

I believe the sum total of everything a writer will ever write is there inside of him or her simply waiting to be tapped. I also believe that the reason so many writers talk about writing instead of actually writing is because there’s so little there. You see, the view inside the writing space was never meant to be the whole entire writing universe, it was always meant to be the space where the work of writing got done. It’s the view outside the widow that inspires and equips a writer to pen great things. It’s going to brick and mortar libraries and sitting there reading great works among the stacks, in the midst of a community of people doing the same. It’s rafting through the Grand Canyon and climbing the great mountainous rocks, standing there and just taking in a panoramic view that will stay with you, inside you, the rest of your life. It’s getting out of your comfort zone and going to China so you can sneak Bibles to the underground churches there (we got 8000 Bibles total across the border in the one week we were there). It’s going from village to village and little church to little church in places like Thailand and Pakistan, sometimes walking for miles in the company of armed soldiers because the cease fire just might cease and war break out again. It’s about sleeping on a villager’s floor or on the ground and going to the bathroom outside. It’s eating rice three times a day four days straight and waking up to see the sun rise brilliant and new and you’re a million miles from home and in no hurry to get back, because you can write anywhere.

We writers write what we see and know and hope. We write what we dream and experience. We write to tell the stories that we’ve lived, in real life or in our imagined dreams. We write what’s outside the window.

I don’t know where I’ll be going next. Pakistan will be a tough trip to top, but I know this – I’m outta here. Passport in hand I’m leaving the view inside my writing space and joining the world outside my window. I want to see Mt. Everest up close. I want to touch an Egyptian pyramid with my bare hand. I want to go to the Sahara Desert, stand there in the midst and turn seeing nothing but sand around me. I want to see and touch and experience it all. And I want to write. Like I said – I can write anywhere.

It’s summer vacation, and all seventeen-year-old Tori Logan wants to do is hang out with her two best friends, practice her mixed martial arts and go to FBI spy camp. Summer means freedom (mostly from adults) and Tori plans to fill every spare moment of her last summer before graduating from High School with all the fun things she and her best pals can come up with.

Tori, whose mom died of breast cancer when she was young, has always relied on her own strength to get by - especially because her Archeologist father tends to leave her behind with his live-in girlfriend while he gallivants around the world on digs. Thankfully, Tori can take care of herself. She knows exactly who she is and what she wants to do with her life. Her Lakota Sioux grandfather, a former Navy SEAL, trained Tori in self-defense from a young age. Now, as a teenager, Tori excels at mixed martial arts and the use of various weapons. During the summer she will be attending an FBI sponsored Summer Camp which she hopes will lead to her dream job – becoming an FBI serial killer profiler.

With her two best friends at her side, Tori believes she can handle anything. And with summer vacation stretching before them, the trio plans to find plenty of adventure.

But while Tori is determined to be independent, life has other plans for this fierce young woman, and they include coming to grips with some hard - and surprising - truths about both her past and her future.
Enjoy an excerpt:

I could really use a belt. Fin thought as he jumped from the porch, bounding over the five steps. Running down the graveled drive at break-neck speed he cursed the fact he was wearing tennis shoes - that along with the baggy, beltless pants was hemming up his stride.

The sound of shrieks and a male voice yelling at him in a foreign language didn’t help the matter. Fin tripped over his own size 12 feet, rolled and got up running. After gathering his wits about him he heard a muffled roar zoom past him followed by a streak of green. He was unsure of what it was but he was too scared to try to figure it out – he was running now – minus the jeans and a tennis shoe.

Fin all but dove into his Camaro thankful he’d left the keys in the ignition and not in his pants pocket. He turned the key and sped down the drive, kicking dirt and gravel in his wake. In his rear-view mirror he could see the crazy man chasing him with the longest, sharpest sword he’d ever seen.

Making it to the end of the drive, Fin did a complete donut, spun the vehicle around in the right direction and then tore off down the street. Tori had grabbed his errant shoe and AJ leaned down to scoop up the jeans, then the two of them tore down the drive after Fin.

About the Author:
Ever since she was young, Nikki Jackson has loved reading and the way that books allow you to journey on wonderful adventures without ever leaving the comfort of home. She decided at a young age that she wanted to become a writer to enable others to experience the magic of books—and The Heart’s Journey Home is the result.

In addition to writing, Nikki Jackson is a contract worker for General Motors. She and her husband currently live in the Detroit metropolitan area.

Check out Nikki's blog or catch up with her on Twitter.

Buy the book at Amazon.

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Monday, October 26, 2015

Win a $50 GC - Virtual Book Tour: Lake of Sins by L.S. O'Dea

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. One randomly drawn commenter via Rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon/BN Gift Card. Please click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

If you could apologize to someone in your past, who would it be?

I know that this is going to sound arrogant, but I cannot think of anyone who I’d apologize to. I am a very honest person, so I don’t often say something that I feel the need to apologize for. People may not like what I say, but that doesn’t mean that I have to apologize for it. With that being said, if I do hurt someone, I will apologize right away. I may apologize for what I said or for how they took what I said. It all depends on the situation.

If you could keep a mythical/ paranormal creature as a pet, what would you have?

Definitely a Pegasus. I would love to fly!

How do you keep your writing different from all the others that write in this particular genre?

This is going to sound weird, but I don’t really worry about that. I mean, I do try and not have it too similar. For example, in the first book of the Lake of Sins series, I had a scene where Trinity describes the Almighty coming into camp and reading the Harvest List. I had quite a few of my beta readers say that it was too similar to The Hunger Games. I cut the scene.

In general, though, I write the story that is. I don’t worry if it is too similar to other works. I just write what plays out, the stops that the story takes. Then if people mention it is too similar to something else, I’ll revisit that section and determine if I agree with them and if I can change it while still remaining true to the story.

What are the best and worst pieces of writing advice you ever received?

I’d have to say that the best and worst advice is the same. Add more background.

Many in my SciFi/Fantasy class said that I didn’t have enough background story. They wanted a day in the life before the action. I added more background. It made the story slower. I modified again and again. Too much, too little. I don’t think that I ever hit the right mix, but I think I came close. It is a fine balance. One of those things that either works or it doesn’t.

I still have some readers who want more background and some who want less. I think I should have left it how it was originally but if I did that, I wouldn’t have gotten to know Trinity as well as I did. That would have affected the rest of the series. So, it was good and bad advice.

Are the experiences in this book based on someone you know, or events in your own life?

No, not literally, but I guess there is a little of me in there. Before I explain, let me say that I would never tell anyone how to live his/her life. I am vegetarian, but that is a personal choice. I helped my sister raise three children and have just recently taken care of my niece’s children for ten weeks. Only one of my family members is vegetarian. When I have the family over to visit I cook meat for them to eat. It is their choice. I don’t believe that you can force anyone to do anything, not really.

Let me also say that I can’t help what I think and to me most Americans are hypocritical regarding their opinions on meat. We find it disgusting that other cultures eat dog and cat meat, yet we eat pig, cow and chicken. I have dogs and cats as pets. I love them but I also understand that they are no more special than a pig, chicken, cow or any other animal. They all want to live. They all want to eat, play and have a nice place to rest. They all love and have friends.

So, with that understanding about who I am, I’m sure you can see my influence in the books.

In a world where class distinction means the difference between imprisonment and freedom and even life and death, being chosen to stay in the encampment and breed is the only way to guarantee survival for a teenage Producer.

Every year after harvest, the finest examples of teenage Producers are assigned mates; the rest are loaded onto carts and hauled away, never to be seen or heard from again. Trinity, a sixteen-year-old Producer, knows that she has no chance of being chosen to stay. She isn’t even full-blooded Producer. Her father is a House Servant and she’s spent her entire life hiding her differences, especially her claws and fangs.

She has one week to sneak into the forest and discover what happens to those who are taken. Her plan is simple, but she doesn’t count on being hunted and captured by predators long believed to be extinct. Can she elude her captors to uncover the fate of her kind and return to camp before her escape is discovered?

Trinity's plans have gone horribly wrong and she is now fleeing for her life, but at what cost to her friends and family. Can she save any of them without sacrificing herself?

Hugh Truent, an Almighty, learns of Trinity’s escape and that she is the offspring of two different classes which is supposed to be impossible. If it’s true, it would be the discovery of a lifetime, but he needs scientific proof. In his quest for answers, he soon realizes that there are those who will kill to keep this find a secret.

Trinity’s struggle to survive in a society based on absolute segregation of the different classes along with Hugh’s dogged determination to find the truth at any cost, sets into motion a collision between the groups that shatters the foundation of their world.

Read an excerpt from ESCAPE

She ran blindly away from the sound of the Guards, her backpack slamming against her spine with each stride. If they catch my scent, they will find me. She skidded to a stop. The forest had ended. A rock wall loomed in front of her, stretching to both sides as far as she could see. Little crevices and divots peppered the wall, but it was too steep to climb. She had to make a choice. The wrong one would cost her freedom, maybe her life.

The trees rustled behind her. Too late. They found me. This had all been for nothing. Now, the best she could hope for was to be taken with the others. Her chest tightened. She had to make sure that her mom and Remy weren’t punished because she escaped. She raised her hands to her shoulders and slowly turned. Her breath caught in her throat. A Tracker, the deadliest of predators, stood on its back two legs, towering above her, front legs hanging down like arms. Brindle fur covered its body and its eyes glowed yellow in the shadowed forest. Its tongue lolled out the side of its mouth, exposing a row of sharp teeth on the other side. Someone should tell it that they no longer exist in the wild.

About the Author: L. S. O'Dea grew up the youngest of seven. She always wanted to do what her older siblings were doing, especially reading stories.

Ill at a young age, she immersed herself in books. Her life changed when she read a short story written by her older brother and realized that normal (somewhat anyway, since her brother was a bit weird in her opinion) people created these amazing stories. From that day forward, she wanted to write.

However, as with all good stories, obstacles rose in her path (mostly self-created obstacles) and it took her many years to put finger to keyboard and type her first book.

Goodreads ~ Facebook ~ Twitter ~ Website ~ Blog ~ Amazon Author Central

The first book of the series is on sale for $0.99 until the end of the tour.

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Friday, October 23, 2015

Win a bookk - HUSBAND HUNTERS by Genevieve Gannon

BBT_TourBanner_HusbandHunters copy

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Genevieve will be awarding an eCopy of Husband Hunters to 3 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

MediaKit_BookCover_HusbandHuntersClementine, a psychologist specialising in couples counselling, is reeling from the discovery that her boyfriend is married. Annabel, an ex-model, only seems to attract men who want her as a trophy. Daniela, a civil engineer, is stuck in the friendzone.

Abandoning the romantic notions of true love that haven't worked out for them, the three decide to use their considerable professional skills to find a partner. this isn't about hearts and flowers; it's about being practical.

Warm and witty, Husband Hunters is about what happens when you try to engineer love. For fans of Zoe Foster, Lauren Weisberger and Mhairi Macfarlane.

Enjoy an excerpt:

‘Oh!’ Amanda Ceravic was startled. She had been leaning into the mirror re-applying some lip gloss. She looked at Clementine, but didn’t say anything.

‘Sorry,’ Clem mumbled, and ran some cold water over her hands. Amanda kept staring. Clementine dried her hands, then inspected her face. It was flushed. She dabbed her eyes with a wet hand-towel and tried to ignore Amanda, who was still watching her reflection.

‘Do I know you?’ Amanda asked, arching a perfect eyebrow.

Clementine gulped.

‘You look familiar,’ Amanda said slowly. Clem held her gaze, terrified. Could she see his fingerprints on her skin? Could she smell her husband’s cologne lingering in her hair? Clementine took a step backwards.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. Perhaps you recognise me from the engagement party?’ she lied. She hadn’t gone — it was yet another event that had been sacrificed for a night with Jason. Guilt burned in the pit of her stomach. She put her hand to her cheek to hide the blush.

‘Perhaps.’ Amanda sounded unconvinced. ‘I never forget a face, though.’ She turned away from the mirror to look directly at Clementine. ‘How do you know the bride?’ she demanded.

‘High school,’ Clem squared her shoulders, but her mouth was dry.

Amanda took a step toward her. Up close she was even more beautiful than Clementine had first thought. Her blue eyes had a remarkable lilac tint that was both mesmerising and unsettling. Or perhaps that was just her expression as she looked down at Clementine. Her lip was curled ever so slightly into the most lady-like of sneers.

‘You do know me. I saw you looking at me and my husband before. I’ll figure it out,’ Amanda stated flatly. Clem’s pulse skipped to double time. But then Amanda softened. ‘I’m a journalist — it’s my job to remember people,’ she teased, smiling.

Clementine smiled back, stiffly. ‘Well, I’d better be getting back to my table,’ she said, and left before Amanda had the chance to reply.

She was rushing to her table when she collided with someone.

‘Clem!’ She looked up.


‘Why did you run off like that?’


‘Clem?’ Amanda was behind them. ‘Do you two know each other?’

Clementine opened her mouth to deny it, but nothing came out. Jason was paralysed, too. They were like a pair of possums caught in the headlight of Amanda’s stare.

‘Well, I, eh …’ Jason stammered.

The realisation hit his wife. She raised a finger and opened her mouth. Time seemed to slow down, as it did before a violent crash in a film.

In a flash a tall blond man appeared by Clementine’s side. ‘Darling,’ he said, throwing an arm around her waist, ‘I just sent Jason to get you. I’ve been looking everywhere.’ He smiled at her and winked. Then he turned to Amanda. ‘Mandy, I see you’ve met my beautiful new girlfriend, Clementine.’ He gently pushed her forward by way of introduction.

‘Clementine?’ Amanda said suspiciously, as if she didn’t believe this was her name. ‘Damon, I had no idea you were seeing someone.’ She paused. ‘Why aren’t you sitting together?’

‘We haven’t been seeing each other very long,’ Clem blurted. ‘Mirabella didn’t know we were an item.’

Amanda put her hands on her hips. The father of the groom clinked his glass with his fork to announce the next round of speeches.

‘We had better sit down,’ Jason said, putting a hand on Damon and Amanda so as to herd them to the safety of the sapphire table.

‘Come and visit us after the last speech, darling,’ Damon said. Then he took Clementine by the shoulders, pulled her to him and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

‘Damon!’ Jason cried. Everyone turned to look at him. ‘Um, have a little decorum, will you?’ Then they returned to the sapphire table.

‘Wow! Who was that?’ Daniela asked when Clem sat down.

‘His name is Damon,’ she said, touching her lips. ‘It’s a long story.’

Ha! Clem and Damon? If you two were a celebrity couple they’d call you Clemon.’

‘No danger of that,’ Clementine said as she gratefully reached for the pear tart waiting for her on the table.

About the Author: Genevieve Gannon is a Melbourne-based journalist and author. She wrote stories for music and fashion street press magazines while at university before moving to Canberra to do a journalism cadetship. In 2011 she joined the national news wire, Australian Associated Press, where she covered crime, politics and entertainment. Her work has appeared in most major Australian newspapers including The Age, The Australian and The Daily Telegraph.

She currently lives in Melbourne where she is a court reporter. At night time she writes romantic comedies. Husband Hunters is her first novel.

Twitter ~ Facebook ~ Website

Buy the book for only $0.99 at Amazon.

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Win a $20 GC: Book Tour for True Deceptions by Veronica Forand

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Veronica will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

After his partner was murdered, Simon Dunn was done with MI6. But the cold, violent world of British intelligence never lets anyone go free. Now Simon has been blackmailed into a new job...with a beautiful new partner who's going to get them both killed.

Robotics expert Cassie Watson is a newbie field agent with as much sophistication as...well, a pacifist, vegan computer nerd. Now she's abruptly thrust into the cutthroat world of espionage with a partner who is as cold as he is brutally-and brutishly-handsome.

But when their mission is betrayed from the inside, Cassie will be forced to place her life in the hands of the one man who's anything but trustworthy...

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt:

“How will I complete the assignment if I don’t know what it is?” Cassie asked.

“You need to do what I tell you, and you will know only what I determine you need to know. With too much information, you’ll endanger yourself and everyone around you. Trust me when I say clueless suits you.”

“I’m sorry. I thought Pauline would tell us our task together.”

“Pauline is not permitted to speak to anyone but me about the logistics. If she did, she would be terminated. She takes her job seriously, and so do I. As for you... Why the hell are you here? You obviously don’t like violence, and you have the seductive ability of a Teletubby. I’ve honestly never encountered an operative like you in all my years working in the field.”

He took a beer from the refrigerator and returned to the office, leaving her behind to feel even more useless and incompetent.

About the Author:
Veronica Forand is an attorney and an award-winning writer of romantic suspense. She's lived in Boston, London, Paris, Geneva, and Washington, DC and currently resides near Philadelphia. An avid traveler, she loves to roam across continents with her husband and kids in pursuit of skiing, scuba diving, and finding the perfect piece of chocolate.

Facebook ~ Twitter ~ Website ~ Amazon Author Page ~ Entangled Book Page

Buy the book at Amazon, Amazon UK, Amazon CA, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, or Kobo.

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Thursday, October 22, 2015

The Writer's View: Pearl R. Meaker

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Pearl R. Meaker will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Pearl’s Inside/Outside Views

Welcome to my inside writing space. It’s a bit tricky, I write on a laptop and regularly use three different indoor areas in my home for working. I’ll show you my writing and craft room.

After meeting you at my front door, we’ll go through the living room to the hallway. You’ll know we’re heading in the right direction as we pass a sign on the living room wall to the right of the hallway that reads: WARNING NOVELIST AT WORK BYSTANDERS MAY BE WRITTEN INTO THE STORY. It was a Christmas gift from my daughter and I wanted it to hang where people could get a laugh from it.

My office/craft room/writing room is overcrowded with . . . stuff. Not hoarder overcrowded, but the overcrowding of a person who likes mementos of her life along with things that simply make her smile.

You are standing in the doorway in photo #1. The old, portable, manual Underwood typewriter immediately to your right on entering was my mother’s. She got that typewriter when she went off to college in 1946 and used it until her fingers were too weak to hit the keys hard enough and she bought an electric typewriter in the early 2000s. I can’t use it my fingers aren’t strong enough. I don’t see how anyone was ever able to type fast on a manual typewriter. But I love that old machine. Even more since becoming a novelist.

The room is a bold orangey-yellow, as is our living room. I got tired of beige and pastels and I liked the feeling the bold yellow gives me.

And there are wall-mounted shelves - lots of wall-mounted shelves so I didn’t lose all of my floor space to bookcases. There and mementos and games and arts and crafts stuff and, yes, some junk as well on all of them as you see in photo #2. Some mystery and research books are in photo #3.

Photo #4 is my desk. It is an old wooden desk that I stripped a couple of layers of paint off of because I like natural wood. I got it for $25 from a small art gallery I worked at, years ago, for about a year before it closed. The hutch section I purchased later. Where there should be a center drawer there is a pullout board. I’m short and the desktop is too high for me, so I took out the drawer and added the pullout to set my laptop on. Our youngest cat Flaming Chi To is on the desk. He has a neurological condition and is deaf –but he’s a happy little sweetie.

And there is a large stuffed Hello Kitty on the left of the desk, along with a collection of small Hello Kitty collectable things on a wall-shelf to the right of the desk.

I like Hello Kitty. ;-)

You can also see my fiddle on the right.

Photo #5 shows Goldie using my comfy, cozy oversized chair that I put in for me to dream and read in. Mr. Midnight, our three-legged cat, is on the ottoman. They always know the most comfortable spots.

The folding doors have been removed from the closet to accommodate a worktable and more wall-shelves. Photo #6 is the crafts part of the room and my sewing machine is over by the worktable.

In front of windows that are too high off the floor, is a metal grid storage unit that doubles as a cat tower for the kitties. The cat on it in photo #7 is our oldest, Millie.

Unfortunately, my outside view isn’t the best because they are set so far off the floor. But it is pleasant, with all the trees and bushes that grow on the hillside on the east side of our backyard. I do get to see birds in the trees, which is cool as I’m a birder.

Some day, who knows maybe with royalties from my books, I plan to put in French doors so I get a better view of the patio and backyard.

And yes, I go there and dream. Of Emory and Jebbin and all my friends in Twombly, and I write their stories for all of you to read. I hope The Devil’s Music and The Devil’s Hook bring you a break from your everyday life, some laughter and some entertainment. That’s what I dream of for my stories.

a Rafflecopter giveawayJairus Twombly's familial intuition is faltering and his new personal assistant seems to be trying to replace his wife, Amy.

On the Twombly College campus, someone is breaking into the dorm rooms of female students leaving things instead of taking things: red colored objects including a red golf ball, a red ribbon and a tiny red stuffed dog.

When a recipient of some of the red objects goes missing and is returned after being told, "You're not her", and the personal assistant turns up dead with Amy Twombly's elegant Bloodwood crochet hook in her eye, things heat up for Emory Crawford and her chemist and forensic scientist husband, Dr. Jebbin Crawford.

Emory, along with the Twombly's Nancy Drew-like daughter, Madison, once more turns to her amateur detective skills and intuition to solve the mysteries.

Enjoy an excerpt:

At about time for lunch break, we heard the upstairs door open and close followed by Tracy and Suzanne pelting down the stairs into the family room.

“Sorry we’re late, Emory,” Tracy puffed.

“Campus security is finally going to do something about it all,” Suzanne gasped out in one breath.

“What?” said the class in Greek chorus unison.

“Slow down now. Take a few deep breaths then tell us what the college is finally doing something about.”

“The red things,” Suzanne began. “The red things that have been appearing in our rooms at Mitchell dorm. It started happening in November, or thereabouts. It even took us a while before any of us said anything to each other.”

“Red things appearing, not taken?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Tracy nodded. “That’s what made it so weird. I mean, breaking in to leave something is so much stranger than breaking in to take something. You know, taking is nearly normal.”

“Totally.” Suzanne shivered at the thought. “But at least now they’re going to come to Mitchell and check out the rooms for scratch marks on the door jambs, finger prints and stuff.”

“Well, I guess we’ll be hearing more about this over our break. I’ve got lunch ready upstairs. Why don’t the rest of you go on up and help yourselves while I get Tracy and Suzanne started on crocheting their afghans.”

The group moved up the stairs, the two boys in the lead. I could hear Amy Twombly grumping as she went.

“I hope lunch is better today. Yesterday I’m positive the bread was stale and Monday the soup was over-cooked.”

I started getting the two girls settled down and learning the pattern. But my brain was not fully on the stitching. The last time something around here got left where it shouldn’t have been it was a strange dried flower arrangement on the welcome table for a conference and soon after, there was a murder.

About the Author:
Pearl R. Meaker is an upper-middle-aged, short, pudgy homemaker, mother, and grandmother who in 2002 became a writer. Initially writing fanfiction she soon tried original fiction at the encouragement of her regular readers. She has been a life-long lover of mystery stories and automatically went to that genre for her first book, The Devil’s Music. She and her husband of nearly 40 years live in central Illinois. They both love bluegrass music, playing fiddle and banjo and singing. Pearl also does many crafts – when she’s not reading or writing - knitting, crochet, origami, needlepoint, and cross-stitch among them. She also enjoys birding and photography and is a former fencer.

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Buy The Devil’s Hook at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Chapters/Indigo.

Buy The Devil’s Music at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Chapters/Indio, or Books-A-Million.

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Win a Gift Card: The Diamond Grenade by Daniel Julian

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This stop is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Daniel will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to five randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

MediaKit_BookCover_TheDiamondGrenadeThe Diamond Grenade is the story of a family line and a revolution told in five novellas - a complex tale told simply.

Enjoy an excerpt:

Book I: A Father’s Fate

At one point, on the banks of a confluence where two rivers ran together like closing thighs, there was a certain boatman. This boatman, name of Gur, had a fine long pole (not too bendy, not too strong) with which to move his long wide boat upon the water. Gur slept with his pole, lest it go missing. Then one evening while he was ferrying a few paying passengers from one put-in to the next, Gur’s pole got stuck in thick river-bottom mud and muck and he lost his grip and the pole sank out of sight. Cursing, Gur leapt into the water and dove for the pole. Long minutes passed and Gur’s nubile daughter Guri, at the prow of the boat, began to wail. Gur did not come back up. They found him later downstream. This is how the girl Guri became a very young boatman with a shoddy pole.

The thing about Guri is that she knew everybody. All the fares on her boat. They didn’t necessarily know each other all too often, but everybody knew Guri. And somehow she knew everybody back. She just had a mind for it. Who went with whom and how the families fell out. Names. All the names Guri knew. But only one name made her sing: Tuc. Tuc drank and threw dice, but early in their acquaintance he’d made bold to say that Guri would make a good mother. This observation of Tuc’s about Guri had won her over, so she sang his name in the dark. One syllable songs are short, but carry on the water.

Guri’s favorite disgruntlement was that there was no word for girl boatman. It was poling-upriver hard to get more than a grunt out of half her older passengers, because they didn’t see clear to it being right for her to be doing a man’s job. Tuc suggested ‘boatwoman’, but Guri allowed as how that was more the busty mascot off the bow of a ship than a person who poled for a living. Tuc took to riding with Guri quite frequently. Then one night, he brought her a new pole, and it was a good pole.

Not long after the new pole, Tuc convinced Guri to elope with him a ways downriver to a town where he had prospects. When they got there, they traded the boat and pole for two goats. Guri was better with people than with animals, so Tuc tended the herd while she met and memorized every person she could find. Soon she had so much work taken in to do for folks that what with going to the big, clean houses to perform services inbetweentimes, and attending in good turn to the day’s worth of all the waiting piecemeal work filling their modest house, Guri was too busy to make a baby.

Guri got fed up with being too busy to make a baby and made a baby. Tuc split. Guri’s popularity made her fatherless child the ward of the town. Everybody parented him. That’s why he grew up angry. His name was Gur, after his grandfather. Boy did he have a chip on his shoulder about being told what to do. Everybody told him when and where to jump. Only Guri could make him ask how high. Usually his answer would be jump why? The thing about having a whole village full of parents is that they are going to contradict each other and some of them are bound to be weird people.

About the Author: As in medical school, praxis then practicum: I saw one, did one, taught one… now I do one after the other. One novella after another I mean. And they’re good. I saw novellas while acquiring my Bachelor's Degree in English Language and Literature/Letters with a minor in Psych at Indiana University in the mid-nineties, I taught and did novellas a few years later while pursuing a Master’s of Arts in Lit. at the University of Alaska, Fairbanks, and I have done a fancy set of five well here now (as I pursue an AAS in Accounting at a community college, btw). For more about me, check out my website.

A set of five good serial novellas. Hope you find the time to enjoy them. Please help spread the word. You can download the book for free.

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Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Win a Gift Pack: Dead in the Dumpster by BL Blair

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. B. L. Blair will be awarding a Dead in a Dumpster Gift Pack (US Only) which will include tote bag, t-shirt, magnet, and bookmark to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

When Leah Norwood finds the body of Isabel Meeks in the dumpster behind her store, she can’t believe the police consider her a suspect. Sure, she didn’t liked Isabel, but then again, neither did anyone else. Isabel had a condescending attitude and a bad reputation. As manager of the antique store, Patina, she had made a lot of enemies.

There is Patina’s assistant manager, the handsome and charming Trent. Isabel was blackmailing him. There is Patina’s owner, the aloof and influential Anthony Thorpe. Isabel was smuggling drugs through his store. And there is the entire drug dealing Cantono family. Isabel had lost a box containing heroin from one of their shipments. That is just to name a few and didn’t even include the stranger who was seen arguing with Isabel just hours before her death.

The police have too many suspects and too many soft alibis. Leah needs to prove to the sexy new chief of police that she had nothing to do with Isabel’s death.

Leah loves a good mystery. Can she find the killer before the police arrest her for murder?

Enjoy an excerpt:

It was a quarter to eight before I was finally ready to leave. I went to the bathroom, gathered up the trash, and headed out the door. The sleet was still falling, and I could feel the ice pellets hitting my head. I hurried over to the dumpster setting the trash down by the bin. I pulled back the large lid and propped it against the brick wall. As I reached down for the trash, I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

I looked into the dumpster and saw Isabel Meeks staring back at me. It took my brain a few moments to determine she wasn’t actually looking at me but sitting perfectly still, eyes wide open, a surprised look on her face, and a huge bloodstain on her chest. I had never seen a dead body outside of a funeral so I did what any rational, mature human being would do. I screamed. I then turned and ran as fast as I could back to the store. I fumbled with the lock a moment but finally managed to get the door open. I even disabled the alarm before stumbling to my chair. I sat there shaking and staring at the door trying to process the scene. An image of Isabel flashed into my head, and I bolted from my chair and to the bathroom where I promptly lost my lunch.

Still a little shaky and somewhat nauseated, I rinsed out my mouth and walked back to the chair. I don’t know why it took me so long, but it finally occurred to me that I probably needed to tell someone. So for the second time that day, I reached for my phone to call the police.

About the Author:
B. L. Blair writes simple and sweet romance and mystery/romance stories. Like most authors, she has been writing most of her life and has dozens of books started. She just needs the time to finish them.

She is the author of the Holton Romance Series and the Leah Norwood Mysteries. She enjoys reading books, writing books, and traveling wherever and as often as time and money allows. She is currently working on her latest book set in Texas, where she lives with her family.

Website ~ Twitter ~ Facebook ~ Goodreads ~ Blog

Buy the book at Amazon, iTunes ~ Barnes and Noble, Kobo ~ Smashwords ~ Google Play ~ CreateSpace.

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Monday, October 19, 2015

Win a book: The Insanity of Murder by Felicity Young


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Felicity will be awarding an eCopy of The Insanity of Murder to 3 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

To Doctor Dody McCleland, the gruesome job of dealing with the results of an explosion at the Necropolis Railway Station is testing enough. But when her suffragette sister Florence is implicated in the crime, matters worsen and Dody finds her loyalty cruelly divided. Can she choose between love for her sister and her secret love for Chief Inspector Matthew Pike, the investigating officer on the case?

Dody and Pike's investigations lead them to a women's rest home where patients are not encouraged to read or think and where clandestine treatments and operations are conducted in an unethical and inhumane manner. Together Dody and Pike must uncover such foul play before their secret liaisons become public knowledge - and before Florence becomes the rest home's next victim.
Enjoy an excerpt:

Wake up, Miss Dody, wake up.’ Annie’s voice invaded Dody’s dreams. She screwed up her eyes under the lemony flare of the electric light and focused on her bedside clock — ten past three — and moaned.

‘Telephone call for you, miss. The police want a word,’ her maid said.

At the mention of police, Dody flung back the bedclothes and allowed Annie to help her into her silk kimono and slippers.

‘Did the policeman give you his name?’

‘No, miss. But it weren’t Chief Inspector Pike if that’s what you were thinking.’

Annie never tired of showing her disapproval of Matthew Pike, a regular visitor to the house. In most households the maid would be disciplined for such impertinence, but in her own home Dody preferred to choose her battles. There were battles enough to cope with at the mortuary. She sighed, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and made her way down the three flights of stairs to the telephone in the hall.

Superintendent Shepherd’s fuss and bluster made his voice hard to hear above the static. She dug the telephone’s receiving device into her ear, only catching fragments of speech. ‘Necropolis Railway … explosion … bodies … Armageddon …’

‘You want me at the railway station now to help retrieve body parts?’ Dody translated.

The static on the line was swept away as if by a broom. ‘Miss, err, Doctor. Have you not listened to a word I’ve said?’

Battles, Dody reminded herself. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can, sir.’ She set the earpiece back on its hook and turned to Annie who was hovering on the stairs. ‘Wake Fletcher, please, and have him bring the car to the front of the house. And give Florence my apologies when she gets up — I assume she’s home now? I’ll probably miss her at breakfast.’

Annie glanced back up the stairs and opened her mouth as if she were about to say something, then changed her mind. Dody had no time for playing games with the maid. ‘Lay my work clothes out on the bed, please.’

‘Cape too, Miss Dody?’

‘No, I think my black velvet coat is more appropriate. I will need full use of my hands and the cape will get in the way.’

The black will also hide the stains, Dody thought as she steeled herself for whatever the night had in store for her.

Headlamps from half a dozen police vans and several fire engines shone on what was left of the station. Fletcher parked on the other side of Westminster Bridge Road and opened the passenger door for Dody. As soon as she stepped from the car a police sergeant scurried over to her.

‘You can’t park ’ere, ma’am, the ’ole place is out-a-bounds.’ Behind him other policemen were attempting to erect wooden barricades around the perimeter of the bombsite, their progress hampered by a crowd of spectators, many wearing overcoats over their night things, jostling for a closer look at the carnage.

‘Give us a look!’

‘What’s goin’ on ’ere?’

‘That racket near shook me out of bed!’

‘This road needs to be blocked off too,’ the sergeant shouted over his shoulder before returning his attention to Dody.

‘I’m Doctor McCleland, senior autopsy assistant to Doctor Bernard Spilsbury. Superintendent Shepherd has requested my presence at the scene.’ Dody had to shout above the din of police whistles, clanging bells, and the cries of the onlookers. She had no formal identification with her, but found a letterhead from the Paddington Mortuary in her pocket and handed it over.

The sergeant glanced at it and nodded his head. ‘That’ll do. Come with me then, ma’am, and watch your step.’

Dody told Fletcher not to wait, that she would find a telephone and call when she needed a lift home. She followed the sergeant, picking her way across rippled tarmacadam that could have been shaped by the sea. A fire engine chugged past, heading away from the Necropolis Station, firemen clinging to its sides. Dull light reflected through the soot on the men’s once dazzling brass helmets. Another engine near a cluster of police vans broke away, also heading for home. Perhaps the fire is under control now, Dody thought. She could see no flames from the ruined station and only the occasional thin plume of smoke.

She had never seen the aftermath of an explosion before and the first thing that assaulted her senses was the appalling smell. A projectile must have penetrated a sewerage pipe near a public convenience and raw sewage flooded the area, motorcar headlamps dancing upon pools of effluent. After carefully stepping around one such evil-smelling mire, she found herself confronted by a miasma of other odours: brick dust, industrial-smelling smoke, and a metallic tang she guessed might be gunpowder. No odour of recent death, thank goodness. Now that was a smell to which she was accustomed.

About the Author:
I was born in Germany and educated at an English boarding school while my parents travelled the world with the British army. I think the long boring plane trips home played an important part in helping me to develop my creative imagination.

I settled with my parents in Western Australia in 1976, became a nurse, married young and had three children. Not surprisingly, it took ten years to complete an Arts degree (English lit) at UWA.

In 1990 my family and I moved to a small farm 40 kilometers NE of Perth (Western Australia) where I established a Suffolk sheep stud, reared orphan kangaroos and embarked upon a life of crime writing.

Facebook ~ Website ~ Blog

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Friday, October 16, 2015

Win a book: Virtual Book Tour: Horizon by Keith Stevenson

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This tour is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Keith will be awarding an eCopy of Horizen to 3 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

MediaKit_BookCover_Horizon Thirty-four light years from Earth, the explorer ship Magellan is nearing its objective - the Iota Persei system. But when ship commander Cait Dyson wakes from deepsleep, she finds her co-pilot dead and the ship's AI unresponsive. Cait works with the rest of her multinational crew to regain control of the ship, until they learn that Earth is facing total environmental collapse and their mission must change if humanity is to survive.

As tensions rise and personal and political agendas play out in the ship's cramped confines, the crew finally reach the planet Horizon, where everything they know will be challenged.

"Crackling science fiction with gorgeous trans-human and cybernetic trimmings. Keith Stevenson's debut novel soars." - Marianne De Pierres, award-winning authors of the Parrish Plessis, Sentients of Orion and Peacemaker series

Enjoy an excerpt:

Cait waited a moment then launched herself into the tube, reaching out as she moved along to acquire some spin. Nadira disappeared from sight, tumbling over the lip at the far end in one graceful move.

It had been obvious from the start that Nadira’s last-minute inclusion on the mission was going to be problematic. The nukes that took out targets in the Middle East and Asia, and prompted the Compact’s formation, had been followed by fifty years of bitter and protracted Pax-led sanctions. Nadira’s presence on board was meant to herald a new era of détente between the Compact and the Pax Americana. But while politicians made and broke alliances almost without thinking, the wounds history inflicted on individuals took longer to heal.

Cait swung herself over the lip of the tube, feeling her internal organs settle as she descended the ladder and stopped halfway. On the floor below it was easy to forget where you were, but from this vantage point the curvature of the drum was more obvious. The layout inside clustered the harnesses, med lab, gym, ship controls and so on against the fore and aft walls, leaving a broad walkway running around the midpoint. Lighting and colouring were muted and shadows minimal, giving an illusion of space, but it was still just the inside of a large can. An odd place to spend the best part of a century.

She took a breath, feeling oddly separated from the others below. She realised that up until now things had been easy, despite the bickering. Lex’s attentions too had been part of a game they’d played on the out-system leg. But now it was very different. Out here they could be sure their bodies would never be found if disaster struck. There would be no one to mourn them, no marker to show how far out they’d come. Sure, this had been the case when they were mere light days from Earth. But it felt more true out here, in the space between the stars. The hard, uncaring void, as Sharpe would say before pulling some stupid terror-stricken face and doubling up with laughter. She just wasn’t sure how far she should go in adapting herself to that difference. She couldn’t quieten the nagging feeling that she was pushing too hard just to keep up the illusion of moving towards a solution — forcing Lex to wake Bren early, ordering the reboot without a more considered study of the situation. Her head hurt too much, and she wanted to sleep. How could that be when she’d only just woken after forty-five years?

People reacted differently to emergency situations — herself included. Under the circumstances, perhaps Nadira’s continued aloofness was understandable. Cait wondered what reaction was the right one for her? She felt dizzy again and clung to the ladder, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. The drum servos hummed through the wall, maintaining the spin. Inside there was light, air, everything was quiet. It was hard to believe they were in the midst of an emergency, hard to keep focusing on that. But the emergency was real. And that was why she had to keep going.

Holding onto that thought, she finished her descent and made her way back to Lex. He looked up from his monitor as she came close and shook his head.

‘No change. The implant’s hooked up but I haven’t been able to influence it. I don’t even know if it’s functioning.’

‘Keep a close eye on her,’ Cait said. ‘We’re going to reboot the main computer.’

‘What difference will that make?’

Cait frowned. ‘I don’t know. Just watch her, okay?’

She glided over to the command port again. Her PAL was settled above the port, already linked to Harris’s.

‘I’m in position, Harris. Ready when you are.’

‘It’ll just take a moment,’ Harris said over the link.

Cait began setting up her screen to monitor the key systems simultaneously.

‘You have to stop her! Don’t let her do it!’

Cait turned at the noise. Bren was trying to get up; Lex was struggling against her. She turned to look at Cait, eyes wild as she forced Lex’s hands away.

‘Don’t reboot Phillips, Cait! You’ll kill us all!’

About the Author:Keith Stevenson is a speculative fiction writer, editor, reviewer, publisher and podcaster. He was editor of Aurealis Magazine - Australian Fantasy and Science Fiction from 2001 to the end of 2004 and formed the multi-award winning independent press coeur de lion publishing in 2005. In 2014 he launched Dimension6 magazine and became a speculative fiction reviewer for the Newtown Review of Books. He blogs about the ideas and issues behind Horizon at his blog and you can learn more about his work at his website.

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Thursday, October 15, 2015

Win a $15 GC - The House at Homecoming Cove by Ginny Baird

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Ginny will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

MediaKit_BookCover_TheHouseAtHomecomingCoveSeeking out solitude in which to work, New York City music composer Melissa Carter rents a century-old farmhouse on the Virginia Eastern Shore. There, she meets a loner with rugged good looks and smoldering gray eyes, who has long-term ties to the property. When strange things start occurring at the historic home, the handsome groundskeeper comes to her aid, but is Melissa really safer in his arms?

When Stone Thomas meets a pretty northerner with a musical gift, he's immediately drawn to her. He's also determined to protect her from the increasingly odd happenings at the fifty-acre farm where he's employed. Soon, Stone finds himself wondering whether he and beautiful Melissa might share a future. Yet the secrets of Homecoming Cove threaten to drive them apart.

Enjoy an excerpt:

Her words came out in a whisper. “Thank you for everything. For coming to my rescue, for…” She was saying goodbye, yet her chin tilted toward his and she took a step closer, her lips barely parted, inviting. She peered up at him and met his gaze with a look that was surprisingly heated, decidedly predatory. There was no mistaking it. Melissa wanted him too. That was all the encouragement Stone needed to take her in his arms and bring his mouth down on hers with a hungry desire that surpassed all expectations.

Melissa gasped with delight and sighed into his kiss. Stone’s empty mug slid from her grasp and landed somewhere on the sofa. Stone pressed his eager body to hers and ran his hands up her back, threading his fingers through her hair. She was glorious, beautiful, her gaze sparking with reciprocal passion. Stone groaned and kissed her again, savoring the taste of her, delighting in the sweetness of her body molded to his, as his blood pumped harder and his heart beat like a kettledrum gone out of control. It was more than a kiss; it was like coming home.

“Stone,” she said breathlessly. He opened his eyes to find his cheeks nestled between her palms.

She looked up at him her face flushed with longing. “I think you’d better go.”

“Yeah,” he said, his pulse pounding. “I’d better go.”

Thunder boomed and rain slapped the windowpanes, while the fire hissed and moaned.

Neither one moved.

“Melissa,” Stone whispered, brushing his lips over hers. “You and me… It’s like… I don’t know.”

“I know,” she replied, meeting his kiss. “I feel it too.”

About the Author:MediaKit_AuthorPhoto_TheHouseAtHomecomingCoveNEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY Bestselling Author Ginny Baird has published novels in print and online and received screenplay options from Hollywood for her family and romantic comedy scripts. She writes touching, often humorous, contemporary romance about single women facing everyday challenges. Known for featuring holidays and family themes in her work, Ginny frequently portrays the struggles of single parents or others who've given up on finding true love.

Ginny has two novella series, The Holiday Brides Series (holiday romance) and The Summer Grooms Series (summer romance), as well as additional single titles available. She is a NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY Bestselling Author, a Top 10 Best Seller on Kindle, NOOK and iBooks, and a #1 Best Seller in several Romance and Women's Fiction categories. Visit Ginny's website to learn more about her and her books.

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Buy the book at Amazon or iBooks.

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Win a $40 GC - Dating after Forty-Eight by Morgan K. Wyatt

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Morgan K Wyatt will be awarding $40 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

The world of dating can be both brutal and mysterious. Why do some people marry the first person they meet and live happily ever after? While the rest of us suffer failed relationships, unexpected divorces, and even the death of a spouse that pushes us back into singlehood. Being single can be especially challenging after forty. Most people could use some help, which is the reason behind the book.

Dating after Forty-eight is a collection of well-read blogs that highlights workable dating strategies. Instead of dating being a trial, turn it into a fun adventure and possibly a happy ever after.

Enjoy an excerpt:

The Confidence Game

The first step to dating like a Bond character is self-confidence. Act as if you are the most beautiful person in the room. Anyone should be glad to know you. If they aren’t anxious to meet you, then that’s their loss. I know some of you are shaking your heads, thinking that you could never pull this off. I did say ACT. That’s the secret. Fake it until you make it. Why act self-confident if you’re not feeling it?

Neediness is the opposite of confidence and drives men and women away. A woman lacking self-confidence telegraphs desperation. She feels like she can never land a man, so she dates anyone who asks her out. Then she usually sleeps with the guy on the first date since that is all she thinks she has to offer. She immediately begins to text, email, and call. Maybe she buys him gifts and drops them off at his work or home. No wonder the guy runs off screaming, which confirms her belief that she has nothing to offer. A worse scenario is the guy hangs around and uses the woman. He keeps her in place by insulting her, making her think she can’t do better.

About the Author:
Morgan K Wyatt has penned twenty novels. Her articles and stories have appeared in several anthologies and magazines including Guideposts, Ladies Home Journal, Playgirl, Greensboro Magazine, and The Dollar Stretcher. Her most recent fiction publications include a sweet romance, The Inheritance, and a anthology, Sunkissed: Summer Effusions.

Dating After Forty-eight marks her foray in non-fiction. The research for the book and blog resulted in her own happy ever after love story.

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