BLURB:  

Three high-spirited 17 year olds, with intelligent quotients in the genius range, accompany their teacher and mentor, Carolina Lovel, to Frascati, Italy, a few weeks before they are to graduate from Wood Rose Orphanage and Academy for Young Women. Carolina's purpose in planning the trip is to remove her gifted, creative students from the Wood Rose campus located in Raleigh, North Carolina, so they can't cause any more problems ("expressions of creativity") for the headmaster, faculty, and other students – which they do with regularity. Carolina also wants to visit the Villa Mondragone where the Voynich Manuscript, the most mysterious document in the world, was first discovered and search how it is related to a paper written in the same script she received on her 18th birthday when she was told that she was adopted – a search that will take them into the mystical world of gypsy tradition and magic, more exciting and dangerous than any of them could have imagined.





Barbara will be awarding a $25 Amazon or BN.com gift card to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. Click on the book cover to see tour stops. You can enter at every stop, improving your chances.




EXCERPT
"Ouch!  You're standing on my fingers!"  This from the petite girl with a long, blond ponytail, wearing a nightgown, most of which was pulled up between her legs and tied into a knot at her waist to keep it from getting tangled on the limb where she was perched.   Somewhere above her the sound of a saw and splintering wood filled the darkness followed by a stream of profanity repeated in several foreign languages for emphasis.

"It doesn't look right.  It's supposed to have a rim and a dent."  Clinging to a 12-foot ladder as she pointed the flashlight first this way and then that, the heavy-set girl wearing a nightshirt buttoned at the neck offered this with a slight lisp.

The girl with the blond ponytail giggled.

"What do you mean--dent?!  Let me see that picture."  The tall black girl completely hidden aimed her flashlight toward the magazine that was being thrust upwards through the thick branches in her direction.

"And the top is supposed to be rounded--like a button mushroom," the girl in the nightshirt added, the word "mushroom" sounding more like "muthroom."

"That's because it's circumcised," supplied the girl with the ponytail, from which she removed a small twig and a handful of leaves.

"Shekoo, baboo!”  More profanity.  “Okay.  I know what to do."  The tall black girl disappeared back into the upper-most branches of the tall plant that was more tree than bush.  After several additional minutes, the sawing, crunching, and clipping sounds finally gave way to the more gentle sounds of tiny snips.  And then, silence.

"That's it; everybody down."

The petite girl, with the magazine that had been overlooked in the last confiscation and now wedged firmly under her armpit, started the perilous descent first since she was nearest to the ground, followed by the tall girl.  The girl in the nightshirt eased her way down the ladder juggling pruning shears, a hand saw, and scissors.  Once on the ground, the three girls stood back to admire their work.

"That is one honkin' Peni erecti," said the tall girl causing a fresh explosion of giggles.  "Let's get out of here."  After quickly rolling down the legs of her pajama bottoms, the tall girl grabbed one end of the ladder and, along with her two friends, lugged it and the other tools back to the shed that housed lawn maintenance equipment.  Task accomplished, they returned to their rooms, and to their individual beds, careful not to disturb the other dorm residents, the floor monitors, their suitemates and, most importantly, their slumbering dorm mother, Ms. Larkins.  Within minutes, they fell into a deep, peaceful sleep--the sleep of innocent angels.

It would soon be light; and Wood Rose Orphanage and Academy for Young Women would start another day.

AUTHOR INFORMATION:
 Originally from Carrollton, Illinois, Barbara Casey attended the University of North Carolina, North Carolina State University, and North Carolina Wesleyan College where she received a BA degree, summa cum laude, with a double major in English and history. In 1978 she left her position as Director of Public Relations and Vice President of Development at North Carolina Wesleyan College to write full time and develop her own manuscript evaluation and editorial service. Since that time her award-winning articles, short stories, and poetry for adults have appeared in several publications including the AMERICAN POETRY ANTHOLOGY, the SPARROWGRASS POETRY FORUM, THE NATIONAL LIBRARY OF POETRY (Editor’s Choice Award), the NORTH CAROLINA CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE MAGAZINE, THE NEW EAST MAGAZINE, the RALEIGH (NC) NEWS AND OBSERVER, the ROCKY MOUNT (NC) SUNDAY TELEGRAM, DOG FANCY, BYLINE, TRUE STORY and THE CHRISTIAN RECORD. A thirty-minute television special which Ms. Casey wrote and coordinated was broadcast on WRAL, Channel 5, in Raleigh, North Carolina. Ms. Casey's award-winning science fiction short stories for adults are featured in THE COSMIC UNICORN and CROSS TIME short story anthologies. Her essays, also written for adults, appear in THE CHRYSALIS READER, the international literary journal of the Swedenborg Foundation, and A CUP OF COMFORT ANTHOLOGY by the Adams Media Corporation.

Her two middle-grade/young adult novels, LEILANI ZAN and GRANDMA JOCK AND CHRISTABELLE (James C. Winston Publishing Co.) were nominated for awards of excellence by the SCBWI Golden Kite Award, the National Association of University Women Literary Award and the Sir Walter Raleigh Literary Award.  SHYLA'S INITIATIVE (Crossquarter Publishing Group, 2002), a contemporary adult novel of fiction, received the 2003 Independent Publisher Book Award and received special recognition for literary merit by the Palm Beach County Cultural Council. Ms. Casey’s novel THE COACH’S WIFE (ArcheBooks Publishing), a contemporary mystery, was listed as a Publisher’s Best Seller and was semifinalist of the Dana Award for Outstanding Novel. In 2007 her novel, THE HOUSE OF KANE (ArcheBooks Publishing), also a contemporary mystery, was considered for a Pulitzer nomination, and in December 2009 her novel, JUST LIKE FAMILY (Wandering Sage Publications), was launched by the 7-Eleven stores in St. Louis, Missouri. Her young adult novel, THE CADENCE OF GYPSIES (Gauthier Publications), was released in March 2011 and considered for the Smithsonian’s Most Notable 2011 Books.  It has also been selected by Amazon for its 2013 List of Best Books.  THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO PRISSY (Strategic Media Books), a novel for adults, was released in March 2013 and received an IPPY Award for Best Regional Fiction.  It has also been listed as a “2013 Best Summer Read” by Conversations Live Radio and has been placed in nomination for a Pulitzer Award.

Ms. Casey is a frequent guest speaker at writers’ conferences and universities throughout the United States. She is former director, guest author, and panelist of BookFest of the Palm Beaches, Florida; and for thirteen years she served as judge for the Pathfinder Literary Awards in Florida.  She held the position of Florida Regional Advisor for the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators from 1991 to 2003.

Ms. Casey is president of the Barbara Casey Agency. She represents clients nationally and internationally in fiction and nonfiction for adults. Her past and present professional associations are numerous and include being editorial consultant for The Jamaican Writers Circle in affiliation with the University of West Indies and Mico Teachers College in Kingston. She also received special recognition for her editorial work on the English translations of Albanian children’s stories.

LINKS
www.barbaracaseyagency.com

 http://www.amazon.com/The-Cadence-Gypsies-Barbara-Casey

BLURB:

Homeless Army veteran Sullivan Turner is nobody’s hero.  His failure to save his fallen comrades proved that.  So when a gutsy social worker gets caught in a drug gang’s crosshairs, he knows he’s the last man who can safeguard her and the pregnant teenagers she’s trying to protect. 

Former debutant Haley Barnes learned the hard way how to survive.  After witnessing a cold-blooded murder, the terrified teenaged runaway changed her identity and hid to save her life.  But when the killer tracks her down and attacks the girls in the homeless shelter she now runs, Haley knows the time has come to stand and fight.  But to bring down the powerful killer she must confront her high-society family’s darkest secrets -- and convince wounded warrior Sully Turner he’s the hero she believes.

 



~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Gail will be awarding a $25 Amazon gift certificate and either a signed print copy (US ONLY) or an electronic copy of Fatal Exposure (Buried Secrets book one) to one randomly drawn commenter during this tour and her other Super Book Blast on August 27th.

Excerpt :


“Are you all right?” the man asked.
        
His low, gravelly voice drew Haley’s attention, and she turned her head.  She met his grim, whiskey-hued eyes, and her belly made a little clutch, the reaction catching her unprepared.  Startled, she took in his dark, furrowed brows, the stark lines of his craggy face.  He had straight, collar-length hair dampened with sweat, a slightly off-center nose that hinted at less than a choirboy past.  A few days’ worth of razor stubble -- several shades darker than his hair -- covered his throat and jaw.

Her heart made another swerve.  He wasn’t exactly handsome.  But man, oh man, was he attractive.  Arresting.  Thoroughly masculine in a decidedly carnal way.  He looked like an old-fashioned gunslinger, like the loner who rode into town, risking his life to battle the bad guys and save the day.  A solitary man in need of comfort who left behind a trail of broken hearts as he rode away.

This was the homeless man, she realized with a start.  But he was nothing like she’d expected.  He was younger -- in his mid-thirties at most -- and far more virile.  He wore work boots and tattered jeans, a long sleeved T-shirt he’d pushed up to his elbows, exposing the tendons roping his arms.  His hands were big and lean.  He cradled the gun with lethal ease.

He was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Gail Barrett is the award-winning author of thirteen romantic suspense novels.  A former RITA® and Daphne finalist, Gail has received the Book Buyer’s Best Award, the Holt Medallion, the Booksellers Best, The National Readers’ Choice Award, and numerous other awards.  She lives with her husband in Western Maryland.  For more information, visit her website: www.gailbarrett.com.

Buy Links:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Romantic-Suspense-Buried-Secrets-ebook/dp/B00BNRHMWI/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1375097894&sr=1-1&keywords=a+kiss+to+die+for

BN:  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-kiss-to-die-for-gail-barrett/1114668433?ean=9780373278367

BLURB:

In the western-most crumbling halls of a mountain citadel lives a lonely wizard named Urien, a master of his art and a fledgling priest of a primordial goddess of transformation. Though his training is extensive, no training could prepare him for a broken heart. For years he has lived on the fringe after having loved and lost a powerful male wizard on the verge of ascension. But such wounds do not hide well. When he delves into the darker powers at the bidding of a shady priestess, Urien's heart reveals itself as a grim warning from the goddess herself, in the shape of a wolf.

In the wake of this unsettling experience, Urien discovers that his most gifted apprentice, a beautiful, wild-tempered woman—and the partner of his erstwhile lover—is in grave danger. A series of swift-moving mishaps including a second warning and a badly backfired protection spell lands Urien into a love triangle that exposes not only his deepest desires but also the black machinations of the priestess who deceived him. When she wields her full power against him, he must reconcile his heart in order to save his lovers and himself from isolation and death.

Water Dark is the creation of F.T. McKinstry and published by Wild Child Publishing. The book opens with a troubled wizard Urien contemplating his actions. Is he honoring the old ones with his actions as reacting to a form of action compulsion that propels him. He’s unsure as he hurries behind his teacher through the dark and gloomy forest.

This is not the life Urien pictures for himself, but a failed love affair has left him both bitter and despondent. Nothing much matters as it once did, turning his heart dark. He is a regular magickal Sam Spade in this dark fantasy world reminiscent of J.R. R. Tolkien’s Mordor from Lord of the Rings trilogy.

He finds himself working with his departed lover’s new squeeze, which is more than ironic. Urien finds himself torn between wanting Rosamond’s, his student and lover’s new darling, drowning as ordered by Wilima and rescuing the woman. Everything isn’t as it seems and Urien begins to question Wilima’s intentions.

This short novella is based on the world featured in The Chronicles of Ealiron series published by Double Dragon. While the tale does work on its own,  a thorough reading of The Chronicles would help understand the hierarchy, mythology and magick behind the tale. It would be like reading The Two Towers without ever reading The Hobbit. You could understand it, but a thorough reading of the backstory would make it a richer experience.

Water Dark is a tale that should delight both fantasy fans and devoted followers of F.T. McKinstry. It provides an unexpected conclusion keeping the novel rather cryptic and mysterious, which is how it should be.

F.T. McKinstry grew up studying music and classical literature, and at a young age acquired a deep love for fantasy and the esoteric, of which she was an avid reader. J.R.R. Tolkien was her most powerful influence. With a background in computer electronics and software development, she wrote and illustrated technical documentation for many years, during which time she created the fantasy world of Ealiron. A lifelong study of plant and animal lore, shamanism, psychology, mysticism and Northern European mythology and folklore provides inspiration and scope for her work. Her published work includes The Chronicles of Ealiron, Wizards, Woods and Gods: Tales of Integration, and Water Dark. Many of her short stories appear in Aoife's Kiss and Tales of the Talisman.

Links:
Website: http://ftmckinstry.com/

Blog: http://ftmckinstry.com/blog/

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5211061.F_T_McKinstry

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ftmckinstry

BLURB:  
1871 . . . Worlds collide when American Suffragette, Gertrude Finch, and titled Brit Blake Sanders meet in an explosive encounter that may forever bind them together. Gertrude Finch escorts a young relative to London and encounters the stuffy Duke of Wexford at his worst. Cross the Ocean is the story of an undesired, yet undeniable attraction that takes Blake and Gertrude across an ocean and into each other’s arms.


Follow this tour by clicking on the cover. Find out more about Holly Bush and her wonderful tale and increase your chances of winning the $50 giftcard. Please retweet, share and like. :) Thanks.



Geraldine Finch has stopped in for a moment to talk to us. I am sure you'll be as impressed with Miss Finch as I am.

Interview with Miss Gertrude Finch (Our heroine of Cross the Ocean) by Miss Althea Benderway of the Ladies Order of the Knighted Sons of our Ancestors – June 21st, 1871

Miss Benderway: Miss Finch, tell our readers a little about the Suffrage movement you are involved with.

Miss Finch: I’d be happy to, Miss Benderway. I travel to small towns and to cities, too, with my sisters in the cause, Miss Esmerelda Bunchley and Miss Mary Alice Forsyth. We speak to women about getting the right to vote and ask them to join our cause.

Miss Benderway: Do you think there is any chance this right will be granted to women?

Miss Finch: The right to vote for women has been contested and defeated since our great nation was born. Of course, with the war over and Negro men granted the right to vote in ’68 with the addition of the 14th Amendment, women are back at the forefront of this conversation. We believe we are all citizens of these recently reunited United States and should enjoy all the rights that men do.

Miss Benderway: What do the men say when they hear you speak?

Miss Finch: Well, of course, they say that women are too simple-minded to vote for anything as important as the President of the United States and that if we are allowed to vote, there will be chaos, pandemonium and retribution from a vengeful God. And it’s not just here, mind you, Miss Benderway, the right to vote for women in England has not been passed yet by their Parliament.

Miss Benderway: I understand you recently traveled to England. Did you find men there to be as hardened to this reform as men in the States?

Miss Finch: Oh yes, Miss Benderway. I met a few and they can be as stubborn and entrenched in their beliefs as our own men, and even perhaps more!

Miss Benderway: Really?

Miss Finch: There was one man in particular, the Duke of Wexford, who was as dismissive of women and contrary as a man could be. His Duchess left him.

Miss Benderway: No! I’m flabbergasted, Miss Finch. And you were well-acquainted with this Duke?

Miss Finch: Yes, I am. He’s shockingly handsome, tall and well-muscled, and sure of himself, too, but as close-minded as one would expect from a man accustomed to privilege in all things. He kissed me as I swung from a tree house ladder, in full view of his son and daughter and other guests.

Miss Benderway: I . . . I hardly know what to say, Miss Finch.

Miss Finch: Neither did he when I punched him in the nose!

Excerpt:
Blake went to the stables, had his horse saddled, and rode to Anthony’s estate. Maybe Elizabeth will ask me to stay for dinner, he thought. Then she’ll go to bed, and Anthony and I can drink a bottle of brandy and get stewed. He could stay there if he couldn’t ride home. A room was kept ready for him with a fresh change of clothes. Blake smiled and felt better than he had in days.  

As the butler escorted Blake down the hall of Anthony’s home to the drawing room, he heard a loud but feminine . . . snort and Elizabeth’s trill laughter in reply. Damn. He remembered now. A cousin of Elizabeth’s from America, sent as an escort to another cousin, was staying with them. Anthony had described and dreaded the arrival of Cousin Gertrude with horror. A spinster remotely connected to Elizabeth’s father’s side, she was big, bold and here for a month. Her arrival had curtailed Anthony’s visits.

Blake stopped and hissed at the butler. “Think I’ve changed my mind, Jenkins. I don’t want to disturb their company.”

“Quite the coward are we, Your Grace? Leave your life-long friend alone with this Amazon from America.” Jenkins stared as he spoke. “In any case they saw you ride up the drive.”

Jenkins spoke his mind to all including Anthony and Elizabeth. There’d be no expecting servile behavior for him. “I’m sure you did not miss the opportunity to point out my arrival,” Blake said.

 “Of course not, Your Grace.” The butler opened the drawing room doors with a flourish. “The Duke of Wexford.”

“Blake,” Anthony said and jumped to pump Blake’s hand. “I am so very happy you are here.”

Blake watched the woman sitting beside Elizabeth stand, and walk across the room to him. She was every inch as tall as he, and Anthony made the introductions. She held out her hand. Blake grasped it and bent to place a kiss there and was surprised when she began to shake it, hitting him squarely in the nose. Blake covered his face with his hand.

“Oh, dear,” Miss Gertrude Finch exclaimed. She threw a look at her cousin Elizabeth. 

AUTHOR INFORMATION:
Holly Bush was born in western Pennsylvania to two avid readers. There was not a room in her home that did not hold a full bookcase. She worked in the hospitality industry, owning a restaurant for twenty years and recently worked as the sales and marketing director in the hospitality/tourism industry and is credited with building traffic to capacity for a local farm tour, bringing guests from twenty-two states, booked two years out.  Holly has been a marketing consultant to start-up businesses and has done public speaking on the subject.

Holly has been writing all of her life and is a voracious reader of a wide variety of fiction and non-fiction, particularly political and historical works. She has written four romance novels, all set in the U.S. West in the mid 1800’s. She frequently attends writing conferences, and has always been a member of a writer’s group.

Holly is a gardener, a news junkie, has been an active member of her local library board and loves to spend time near the ocean. She is the proud mother of two daughters and the wife of a man more than a few years her junior.
Twitter
@hollybushbooks

www.hollybushbooks.com

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Holly-Bush/247399131941435

BLURB:

What happens when negligent plastic surgeons receive a taste of their own medicine…?

Chicago investigative reporter, Eden Risk, receives an unmarked envelope containing a postcard ordering her to watch the enclosed DVD…or someone else dies. No Police. After Eden watches the DVD, a gruesome, horrifying surgery, she turns to the private criminal investigation agency, CORE, for help. Only she hadn’t expected that help to come with a catch. Her former lover, Hudson Patterson, has been assigned to the case.

Hudson would rather have another CORE agent handle the investigation. Two years ago, he’d screwed things up with Eden…bad. And as more DVDs arrive, Eden and Hudson find themselves not only knee-deep in a twisted investigation, but forced to deal with their past, and the love they’d tried to deny. 

REVIEW



Shadow of Perception by Kristine Mason is Book 2 in the CORE Shadow Trilogy. CORE is an elite group of agents that handles unusually dangerous and heinous crimes.  A Shadow of a Perception opens with a crazed father who has kidnapped the plastic surgeon he blames for his daughter’s death and videotapes a diabolical surgery on the man. Eden, an investigative journalist and heroine, receives the tape.

Eden can’t believe her eyes when she watches the first video or the note that instructs her to show the horrific sequence on the news or another person will die. Her first instinct is to call CORE who had handled similar incidents in the past. What she didn’t expect was to have Hudson Patterson play bodyguard. He’s convinced that the deviant killer behind the tape has his eye on Eden. It is difficult to be near Hudson after their affair ended so abruptly two years ago. She’s tried to put it behind her, but having the living, breathing Hudson beside her brings it all back.

Hudson would rather have anyone guard Eden than him, then again, not. After all, he’s the best and he wouldn’t want anything to happen to her. He’d never forgive himself. He had a job to do and he could do it. Before he knows it, he, Eden and the rest of CORE find themselves trying to outthink a driven madman anxious to exact revenge on those he blames for his beauty queen daughter’s death. As the tapes arrive, and the body count rises, Hudson and Eden rediscover what they threw away so cavalierly.

Shadow of Perception has some majorly creepy scenes with the killer. CORE characters especially work well together. Hudson and Eden are initially very prickly around one another making their eventual return to love all the sweeter. The author’s research into child beauty pageants, what happens to the participants and parents that live for the pageant crown adds to the fabric of the story.

 Shadow of Perception is a major thriller with super disturbing scenes. I am betting it will put a few thousand people off any planned plastic surgery. All the same, it is a fun read. Two thumbs up for this satisfying read. Suspense and thriller fans both should enjoy it.

Excerpt :

Heroine’s POV:

“Hey, Eden,” Hudson Patterson said as he shrugged out of his leather coat and pierced her with his steely blue gaze. “I see you got yourself into another mess.”

The room shrank and her sole focus remained on the one man who had stirred more emotions in her than all the other men before and after him combined. Two years ago, he’d lit a fire inside her, and within months, he’d smothered the flames with his arrogance and bullheaded attitude.

Based on the condescending remark he’d just made, she doubted his opinion of her had changed. His appearance had, though. Harder, darker, more dangerous. His brown, wavy hair now reached his shoulders and he needed a shave. Even without the worn, black leather jacket, which now hung on the coat rack, he looked thuggish in a tattered charcoal gray thermal shirt, low-riding jeans and black Doc Marten boots. The whole badass biker look shouldn’t have appealed to her, but Hudson owned it and wore it well.

She glanced at his mouth, then immediately regretted it. Lust slammed into her belly as wicked memories of what his firm lips had done to her surfaced. Those unwanted memories collided into a kaleidoscope of naked skin, harsh moans and multiple orgasms. Even now, she swore she could still feel his rough hands urging her hips, spreading her legs, gripping her bottom. Could imagine his mouth on hers, or better yet, between her thighs.

Hudson smiled. A smug, satisfying smile that snapped her out of her sexual spell and reminded her exactly why breaking things off with him had been the right decision. Her body might not have thought so at the time, and those urges to have him in her bed right now might still be strong, but her head knew better. Hudson was an arrogant jerk who exuded less emotion than she did.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

I didn’t pick up my first romance novel until I was in my late twenties. Immediately hooked, I read a bazillion books before deciding to write one of my own. After the birth of my first son I needed something to keep my mind from turning to mush, and Sesame Street wasn’t cutting it. While that first book will never see the light of day, something good had come from writing it. I realized my passion, and had found a career that I love.

When I’m not writing contemporary romances and dark, romantic suspense novels (or reading them!) I’m chasing after my four kids and two neurotic dogs.

LINKS:

FACE BOOK: http://www.facebook.com/kristine.mason.1029

TWITTER: https://twitter.com/KristineMason7

WEBSITE: www.kristinemason.net

BLURB:

 

Neal Sinclair meets David Bankston in a college town bar. He’s tall, dark, and handsome, and wears a Stetson like nobody’s business.

When they dance, inner passion heats up while inhibitions melt away. Neal quickly discovers David’s not a Southerner at all. He’s a Boston architect, in Tuscaloosa for only one night. The next morning, they struggle to walk away from something that caught them both by surprise.

Time doesn’t diminish the ache they feel in each other’s absence. Unable to stay apart, David arranges to take Neal to watch her beloved Crimson Tide play in a football bowl game. Reunited, they’re determined to make it work. When separated, they perfect the art of open communication. They each know that true love is a long shot.

But distance isn’t the only thing standing in their way. Unbeknownst to her, Neal’s overprotective father is, too. With so much conspiring against them, can a natural disaster turn the odds in their favor?


Joan will be awarding a $25 Amazon gift card to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. Follow the tour and increase you chances of winning. Click on the cover to follow the tour.


Excerpt 

“What’s this?” she asked curiously.

“Do you do tequila shots?”

“Never have before.”

“Then you’re in for a treat. This is a slightly different recipe from the traditional salt and lime. I think you’ll like it.”

“How do you do it?” She looked at the three separate ingredients and wondered if there was a method to the madness.

“I’ll show you how I’m going to do it. May I have your hand, please?”

He held his palm out and she placed her hand in it. He turned it over, so the underside was exposed, and then he kissed it open mouthed. Neal watched him run his tongue over her skin, making it glisten with saliva. Then he sprinkled a generous amount of cinnamon over the slick spot. He picked up the whiskey and held it in one hand then dipped his mouth to suck her wrist. She felt him lick softly over her skin, and the fire started to burn inside her. He sat up and raised an eyebrow at her as he quickly consumed the liquid and then he sucked on the wedge to drain the juice out of the citrusy pulp.

“Damn, that’s hot.” She could already feel the rush of moisture to her sexual center, and crossed her legs.

David’s expression was lustful as the rush of alcohol began to take effect. “Your turn.”

He reached for her wrist, but she quickly jerked it back from him.

“No way, Cowboy,” she admonished him. “I’m doing it like you showed me.”

She reached out for his hand. When he extended it to her, she pushed up his sweater, then unbuttoned his shirt sleeve and rolled it up to get it out of the way. She kissed his wrist just below his thumb, and then took her own slow, sweet time to suck it until it was thoroughly wet before applying the aromatic spice. Neal licked the cinnamon, threw back the tequila, and bit the orange wedge that he held out to her. As soon as she swallowed, he covered her mouth with his and plundered it with his tongue.



AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Joan Chandler is a Florida native who has lived in the Deep South all of her life. She is married with two children who are her pride and joy. She lives a double life of sorts, holding down a nine-to-five job during the day, and writing steamy romance at night—often with her black cat curled up in her arms as she types.

When she’s not spending her spare time working on her next novel, she loves to go camping, sharing girls’ night out with her friends, walking her two dogs, and watching college football.

BUY Links:

AMAZON:   http://www.amazon.com/Bride-BookStrand-Publishing-Romance-ebook/dp/B00CT35YFW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1369583017&sr=8-1&keywords=bama+bride

BOOKSTRAND PUBLISHING:    http://www.bookstrand.com/bama-bride

BLOG:  www.joanchandler.wordpress.com

twitter account:   @joanchandler1

Find me on facebook:  Joan Chandler

email:  joanchandler13@gmail.com

BLURB:

On the ski slopes of Montana, deception turns deadly and seduction becomes more hypnotic than jewels.

Reagan McKinney is on a mission to discover more about a deceased uncle who mysteriously left her a sizable inheritance, a condo in the mountains, and a stash of stolen jewels.  With both her graphic design career and her love life in shambles, the opportunity to begin a new life couldn’t have come at a better time.  When she becomes involved with the sexy FBI agent next door, she finds her struggle is not only to keep her heart intact, but her life.

         

Grief stricken after an undercover investigation ends in the tragic death of his partner, FBI Agent Garret Chambers goes home to find solace in the arms of his mountain home.  That is, until his boss assigns him to investigate the spirited brunette staying in the condo next door.  He is assigned to investigate Reagan’s involvement with a large jewel fencing organization, but his investigation becomes comprised when his attraction to her heats up.  Will his discovery destroy everything he has come to love, including Reagan?

Click on the book cover to visit the rest of the tour.

Angela will be awarding one of three prizes: a car mirror hanger or key chain (a seashell as a tie-in to her book), an mp3 album by Pretty Little Blisters, a $10 Amazon gift card, to three randomly drawn commenters during the tour, and an mp3 album by Pretty Little Blisters to a randomly drawn host.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Excerpt

Garret blinked, slowly, and she watched his chest rise and fall. “Did you know something about Kyle?”

She threw her boot at him. He caught it. She cursed.

“I knew he was a dirty cheating slime ball. Just like you.” Reagan tugged on her socks and her knee-high boot, tightening the lace in record speed. Standing, she marched to him and seized the other from his grasp, refusing to look at him. Her balance teetered as she tried to slip it on, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her helplessness. She braced one hand on the wall as she loosened the lace and lugged on the boot, refusing to sit. Refusing to reveal any kind of vulnerability or regret.

Garret remained in the doorway, watching. Unmoving. She pushed past him, his woodsy scent all the more reason to hate him, or at least hate the effect he had on her. She donned her jacket, slipped on her gloves, and tore out the front door.

“It’s too far to walk,” Garret called behind her.

“I’ll take my chances.”

Garret pulled on her arm and whipped her around. Eye level with his chest, she didn’t fail to notice the tension streaming out of every pore of his body. The cords in his neck bulged with each breath. His eyes, a deep, dark, abysmal dye, wouldn’t let her inside his head. Which was a good thing, now that she knew the psychosis of his mental state.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

During my senior year in high school, I was dubbed most likely to write a novel because I always had my nose stuck in a book.   I would hide my romance novels under my history book until my teacher called me out on it.  Writing has been my dream ever since my mother read Brer Rabbit to my sister and me so often that we were able to recite it back to each other before actually learning to read.  I love reading about the adventure of love, and getting involved in the legal field developed my love of suspense. I believe love is a mystery that most people have trouble resolving.  While I don’t expect we’ll ever solve that mystery, I love to read and write about characters who work to solve their love’s mystery.  See more about me at my website www.loveisamystery.com or tweet me @angelaswriter

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Publisher Website: www.crimsonromance.com

A random commenter will will a $25 gift card. It could be you.

Bloodfire
Mackenzie Smith has always known that she was different. Growing up as the only human in a pack of rural shapeshifters will do that to you, but then couple it with some mean fighting skills and a fiery temper and you end up with a woman that few will dare to cross. However, when the only father figure in her life is brutally murdered, and the dangerous Brethren with their predatory Lord Alpha come to investigate, Mack has to not only ensure the physical safety of her adopted family by hiding her apparent humanity, she also has to seek the blood-soaked vengeance that she craves.

Bloodmagic

After escaping the claws of Corrigan, the Lord Alpha of the Brethren, Mack is trying to lead a quiet lonely life in Inverness in rural Scotland, away from anyone who might happen to be a shapeshifter. However, when she lands a job at an old bookstore owned by a mysterious elderly woman who not only has a familiar passion for herbal lore but also seems to know more than she should, Mack ends up caught in a maelstrom between the Ministry of Mages, the Fae and the Brethren.

Now she has to decide between staying hidden and facing the music, as well as confronting her real feelings for the green eyed power of Corrigan himself.

Bloodrage

Mack begins her training at the mages' academy in the hope that, by complying, the stasis spell will be lifted from her old friend, Mrs. Alcoon. However, once there, she finds herself surrounded by unfriendly adults and petulant teenagers, the majority of whom seem determined to see her fail.

Feeling attacked on all fronts, Mack finds it harder and harder to keep a rein on her temper. Forced to attend anger management classes and deal with the predatory attentions of Corrigan, the Lord Alpha of the shapeshifter world, her emotions start to unravel. But when she comes across a familiar text within the walls of the mages' library, which might just provide the clues she needs to unlock the secrets of her background and her dragon blood, she realises that her problems are only just beginning...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EXCERPT  from Bloodfire:

I jogged along a small brook until it curved upstream towards the hills, then hopped over it and headed towards where I knew John would be.  I finally found him crouched in a clearing, not far from the edges of the moor.

“You sound like an elephant running through those trees,” he complained.

I put my hands on my hips and raised an eyebrow.  “Is that the thanks I’m getting for interrupting my run to come and investigate the over-energetic dalliances of some bunny rabbits?”

“That was one time.”  He straightened up.  His salt and pepper beard and bald head, along with the laughter lines around his eyes, hinted at the wisdom and experience contained within that smart mind of his.  John had been alpha in Cornwall for thirty-two years, and was universally liked and respected by the pack, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t still have a little fun.

“So what is it this time?  Don’t tell me, I’ve got it, a sheep has gotten lost on the moor and its bleating is terrifying the farmers.”

He held out his palm.  There was a small shiny black object resting in the middle.  “I wish that’s what it was,” he said grimly.  “Take a look at this.”

I picked it up from his hand and rolled it through my fingers.  It was almost entirely weightless, and very smooth.  There was also something else.  I held it up to my ear and heard an odd chiming sound.

John looked at me sharply.  “You can hear it?”

“Sure,” I said surprised.

“Describe it to me.”

“You mean you can’t hear it?”  I was puzzled.  Compared to my own hearing, John could hear a leaf drop from fifty paces away.  “It’s like bells.  Only not, it’s more continuous than that.  Like a never-ending echo of a chime.”

He pursed his lips, clearly unhappy.  “It’s a wichtlein’s stone.”

“A mine fairy’s?  They knock three times and a miner drops dead?”

“You’ve been reading too many fairy tales.  Wichtleins do sometimes hang around old mines and tease the men that work there, but more often than not they are true harbingers of evil.  I don’t think one has been seen in the British Isles for more than a century.”

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Helen Harper is an English teacher currently living abroad in Malaysia. As a long time reader of urban fantasy, she finally bit the bullet and began to develop her own series of novels.

Helen has always been a book lover, devouring science fiction and fantasy tales when she was a child growing up in Scotland. "I always loved the escapism provided by those genres," states Helen. "No matter how bad life gets, you can always find a route out, even if only temporarily, in the pages of a good book."

The growth of urban fantasy fascinated her - the mix of reality and fantasy along with strong heroic female characters appealed from the very beginning, and inspired her to write her own.

Facebook Author page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Helen-Harper/101590660022586

Twitter: HarperFire

Click on Amazon.com buy links to purchase.

Rys Rising: Book 1

by Tracy Falbe
~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLURB:
Onja can control what others see.

The day will come when everyone sees things her way.

Enjoy this unique epic of complex heroes and villains that engulfs readers from many angles. Packed with primitive energy, the intertwining stories and rising stakes of this fantasy world will indulge your cravings for intrigue, bravery, desire, and freedom.
~~~~~~~~
Tracy will be awarding a $25 Amazon, Barnes & Noble or iTunes gift card (Winner's Choice) to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour, winner's choice of any one of her stock art products from www.falbepublishing.com.

Excerpt One:
Dacian and Onja talk in prison

“What do you hope to accomplish with your defiance? The tabre will not learn to respect rys if we act below the standards of society,” he said.

His challenging question appeared to sadden her, and she took a moment before answering that she had not really thought about accomplishing anything. She had only wanted the dignity of her freedom.

Dacian contemplated her answer. He had never really considered that the rys were not free. Their second class status had always been such a blaring difficulty that he had not noticed the essential truth of rys life. Keeping to their places also meant that rys were not supposed to go anywhere.

But I was changing that. I was going to go to Kwellstan. Become a part of the hierarchy. Break the trail for others. What have I done? he lamented. After defending Onja how could he possibly be accepted by the Nebakarz?

Onja read his thoughts. He had such lofty goals. Awkwardly she tried to console him. “Maybe this will not be so bad for you.”

He was startled by her comment because he realized that he had left his mind open to her. The intimacy felt strange. It provided an unfamiliar freedom. Dacian did not have to focus on dogma and strive for the correct answers with her.

Dacian moaned. He had not imagined that such a day as this would come. His confinement confused him, but he resolved to be patient and keep his mind away from the door and its sealing spell. Breaking free would only make things worse for him.

To Onja, he admitted, “I don’t know what my life will be like now.”

“Then you have never had so many choices,” she said.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

 

I was born in Michigan in 1972 and grew up in Mount Pleasant. It's called the "Mountain Town" but there is no mountain and it's debatable about whether it's pleasant. They say it's a party town and based on extensive research as a young adult I can concur.

Because I always had the childhood fantasy of running away and joining the circus, I moved to Las Vegas, Nevada in 1995 and lived there until 1997. Those who only stay a week are wimps, but I will say that it's the second year in Vegas that wears you down. Then I realized the pioneers were trying to get to California, and Nevada was not the goal. So I moved to Chico, in Northern California and lived there until 2009. I miss Chico dearly and value greatly the experience of living in that enlightened realm (local government excluded). My wandering has circled back and I'm currently residing in Battle Creek, Michigan. I think I adore the place, but that doesn't make sense. I'm still California dreamin' and fantasize about my return to the Golden State, but for now my existence within the post-apocalyptic Rust Belt is suitably fascinating.

In 2000, I earned a journalism degree from California State University, Chico with the conscious ambition of becoming a fiction writer. With the rapid demise of the newspaper industry and journalism in general, novelist is not such a daft pursuit after all. It's not like I'm actually going to get a job that values my education. Luckily I'm cursed with the impulse to write in a popular yet competitive genre.

Links

Rys Rising: Book I is available worldwide at these retailers:

Brave Luck Books http://www.falbepublishing.com/braveluck/index.html

Amazon Kindle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005FYSSSC

Amazon Paperback http://www.amazon.com/Rys-Rising-Volume-Tracy-Falbe/dp/0976223570/

iTunes https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/rys-rising-book-i/id458569652?mt=11

Barnes & Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/rys-rising-tracy-falbe/1104808237

Kobo http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Rys-Rising-Book-I/book-Wvq-CXnSbESRpk1lFAy6zQ/page1.html

Sony https://ebookstore.sony.com/ebook/tracy-falbe/rys-rising/_/R-400000000000000473918

Smashwords http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/79722

Blog - Her Ladyship’s Quest http://www.herladyshipsquest.com

Twitter - https://twitter.com/tracyfalbe

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/pages/Brave-Luck-Books/41583881478

The Esposito Series Box Set:

Now you can own the first three books in the sassy and suspenseful Vinnie Esposito Series by J.M. Griffin!

By day, Lavinia (Vinnie) Esposito is a criminal justice instructor at a college in Rhode Island. By night Vinnie is an amateur sleuth, solving murders while trying to avoid getting yelled at by her Italian father, her hunky protective boyfriend Marcus Richmond, and her sexy upstairs tenant, the mysterious Aaron Grant.

For Love of Livvy (Book 1)

Vinnie investigates the death of her beloved aunt, and a mysterious box is left on her doorstep.




Dirty Trouble (Book 2)

Someone is stalking Vinnie and that’s just the beginning of her troubles.

Dead Wrong (Book 3)

Vinnie is out to save her brother from being framed after a valuable painting is stolen.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt:

The front door knocker rapped twice after the door bell rang. I hustled from the rear deck of the gargantuan house to answer the summons. Someone seemed impatient, and I was curious as to who it was. My watch read just after eight o’ clock. I swung the heavy door open to find my prospective visitor absent.

It was so quiet, the town ghostly in its seemingly deserted state. Sundays were always lazy days in Scituate, once church was over. With a glance up and down the street of the small historic Rhode Island village, neat colonial homes stretched along the sides of the road in both directions. No one came into view.

On the doorstep, a package addressed to my recently deceased Aunt Livvy sat wrapped in brown paper. Again, I gawked up and down the street, but only empty sidewalks and barren roadway appeared in the waning light. The idea of a jaunt along the main drag entered my mind. I figured it would be senseless since the street was visible for about two hundred yards in either direction. Whoever had left the package was gone, long gone.

An eternity passed, or so it seemed, while my gaze locked onto the square, little box. Reluctant to touch it, I decided to call the local fire company to come take a gander. Call me paranoid, but as a criminal justice instructor, a recent audit of a class on bomb components remained fresh in my mind.

I quickly stepped to the living room and grabbed the phone. I dialed the private number of the fire station up the street. A grunt came across the phone line that could only be Bill MacNert.

“Hey Nerd, its Vinnie,” I said. “A package was just left on my doorstep, could you come down and check it out for me?”

“Sure, you got a secret admirer or somethin’?” He cackled, as only senior men can.

“Not likely, but you never know. This package is addressed to Lavinia Ciano, not Lavinia Esposito and is wrapped in brown paper. Nobody’s here to accompany this little surprise either.”

“I’ll be right down, Vinnie, don’t touch it.” He warned.

“Okay.”

Anxious, I paced back and forth across gleaming hard wood floors in the spacious living room of my newly acquired colonial. My fingernails tapped the enamel on my teeth as I wandered to and fro. As irrational as it seemed, I finally leaned against the door jamb inside the entry to wait for MacNert to arrive.

It wasn’t long before the limber old guy came into view as he hot footed down the street with a stethoscope in his hand. This particular piece of equipment wasn’t quite what I’d expected, but then he wasn’t a bomb expert either.

When he arrived on the doorstep slightly out of breath, he glanced at the parcel, and then turned toward me.

“This was just delivered, you say?” MacNert squinted toward me with wizened brown eyes that twinkled all the time. It was as though there was a private joke going on inside his head.

“Yeah, someone knocked on the door, and when I got here to answer, there was nobody around. It didn’t seem prudent to mess with it, so I called you.”

“You just finished that bomb class, eh?” He chuckled and then sobered quickly. Since 9/11, everyone took stuff like this with a serious attitude. While he chuckled, I knew MacNert was no different.

The stethoscope ends plugged into his ears, Bill laid its diaphragm on top of the package. Removing it, he gingerly set it against the sides and listened again. I didn’t make a sound as he stood and glanced up.

“There’s no tickin’ but that doesn’t mean it’s not an explosive. You should probably call the state police barracks up the road. Have them send their bomb guys down for a lookie see, just to be on the safe side.”

“Geez, I hate to do that. I’ll feel stupid if it’s a joke,” I whined.

“It’s up to you, but if you were nervous enough to call me, then you should call them. It’s just my opinion, Vin.” He stepped over the box and wandered into the entryway. “Got anythin’ to eat? Wifey’s out of town visitin’ her sister and I’m starved.”

Bill didn’t seem over concerned, but then again, he hadn’t recently taken a bomb class either. My eyes never left the box as I answered him. “There’s food in the fridge, help yourself.”

I’d known the homely man and his family for years and respected his opinion. Tapping my fingers against my lips, I called after him, “You’re right. I’ll ring the state police now, but stick around okay?”

Unwilling to be nailed as over-dramatic by the staties, I reluctantly punched in the numbers. It was bad enough that the local cops had bugged the shit out of me for the first month after Aunt Livvy’s death. They still stopped by now and then, annoying me even more with stupid questions. Questions to which I had no answers.

After the trooper covering the desk answered, I explained what I’d found on the doorstep. He seemed unconcerned until I mentioned my name and address, and then he stated someone would be down momentarily. The swift change in his manner piqued my curiosity. I wondered why he’d suddenly capitulated when his initial response had been of disinterest.

In the living room, I paced while awaiting the arrival of the state police. Within minutes a sleek, grey Crown Victoria pulled up to the curb out front and a tall, lean trooper got out. Broad shouldered and well built, he walked with assurance and a certain amount of swagger. I stepped into the open door entry and watched him saunter through the front gate onto the walkway. He stared at the package and then at me.

“Did you call about this box, ma’am?” Keen hazel green eyes traveled over my face and down my body.

Craggy features, sculpted from granite, faced me and I felt my blood run hot as the breath caught in my throat. What was this about? I gazed at him admiring the neat package wrapped in the trim uniform.

“I did. Bill MacNert from the fire station thought it would be a good idea since it was mysteriously left on the doorstep. He checked to see if it was ticking, but it isn’t.”

“Are you Lavinia Ciano?” The trooper’s glance strayed from the name on the wrapper to me as his eyes showed a glint of humor and his mouth twitched.

Could that humor be over the name? I wondered, as I said, “No, my name is Esposito. Livvy was my aunt.” Our eyes held and my heart pounded. I licked my parched lips and then glanced away.

An oversized van idled up behind the patrol car and the trooper glanced back. Two men stepped from the vehicle dressed in heavy gear and acknowledged him. He turned to the lead man, mumbled a few words and then stared at me again. If this was an action film, I would have expected Bruce Willis to jump out of the truck announcing he was about to kick someone’s ass. This wasn’t an action film, but a real life situation instead.

The two guys angled through the front gate and hitched their gear as they hauled a peculiar looking lidded barrel toward the front door. By this time, a few neighbors had taken notice of the activities. Several people straggled along the sidewalk across the street to watch.

You’d think it was a freakin’ sideshow. I smiled and waved. Nobody responded, they just continued to gawk. A little excitement for them on an otherwise dull Sunday, I guessed. The trooper stood aside and watched the crowd, but said nothing.

The overdressed bomb guys corralled the box between them. With delicate finesse they lifted and stowed it into the metal container, loaded it into the truck and drove off. I stared in disbelief. Hell, I wanted to know what was in the package. I had a right to know, didn’t I?

The trooper turned to leave and I stepped forward.

“Uh, I’d like to know what’s in the box, if it’s not too much to ask.” My hand snuck up to my hip as my cocky Italian attitude slid into place.

Tall and Curious stiffened at my tone and turned to stare at me. It seemed he wasn’t used to being spoken to in this manner, which wasn’t any big surprise. Women tend to respond differently to men in uniform, especially a man such as this luscious creature. Well, not this chick. I teach guys like him all year long and the “I’m so wonderful” thing gets old fast.

“I’ll be sure to let you know, Miss Esposito. If we have any questions, you’ll hear from us right away.”

I gawked a moment and my eyes narrowed. His opened wide in contrast and he waited, his body tense. Maybe he thought I’d pitch myself off the steps onto his perfectly toned frame and pummel the daylights out of him or something. It was a thought, but I really wanted to know what was in the package. Besides, his muscles were bigger than mine.

In an effort to change tactics rather than be handcuffed and dragged off to jail, I smiled and spoke in as nice a manner as I could muster.

“I’d appreciate any information you could give me officer, since the package was left in such an alarming way. Should I call headquarters tomorrow?”

His look narrowed. I suspected he was unsure of where this was headed. There was a moment’s hesitation before he answered the question.

“Sure, that would be a good idea.” He gave a nod of the stiff brimmed campaign hat that covered cropped brown hair.

“All right then. I’ll call the colonel first thing.” My voice remained light and sweet, and the smile was charming, at least I hoped it was.

The colonel runs a strict police force and is a tough disciplinarian with an intense dislike for any impropriety, implied or otherwise. I’d gleaned that much from the cops in my criminal justice classes.

A tight lipped smile crossed his face. I figured he couldn’t decide whether I really knew the colonel or if this was a ploy. To be truthful, I lied by omission. I hadn’t said I knew the colonel, I just said I’d give him a call.

“That won’t be necessary ma’am. As soon as there’s any information, I’ll get in touch with you.” With a nod of his head, he turned and left.

Don’t you hate that ma’am thing? It makes me feel old. I know I’m thirty-something, but really.

Bill MacNert stood near the doorway sucking down a sandwich filled with sausage and peppers. My mother had sent the food home with me the day before. The smell of rich tomato sauce and fragrant sausage tantalized my taste buds.

“Guess it wasn’t that serious then?” Slurp noises preceded a sauce blob that dripped down his uniform shirt.

 I glanced at Bill’s shirt, snagged a tissue from my pocket and dabbed at the drip.

“I won’t know until tomorrow, but if I’m the town laughing stock you’re in for it and don’t forget it. By the way, did you leave me any food?” I chuckled at his expression.

Bill’s guilt ridden grin assured me that he hadn’t, but he swore that he had. He handed me the empty plate before he headed toward the fire station. I watched the stethoscope bob up and down from the back pocket of his pants. He trotted up the street, and I felt sure the story would make the rounds since Bill was an avid gossip.

The crowd had dispersed, and I was alone again. Livvy would have had a fit over the whole affair had she been alive, but I figured there was no sense in being stupid. I act that way often enough, thank you.

Mystery still surrounded Livvy’s non-violent death. While the police weren’t forthcoming with information, the state troopers’ attitude on the phone caused me to reconsider the promise to my father to not investigate on my own. I wandered through the house deep in thought over the situation.

Darkness had descended as I headed toward the bedroom. Changing into a t-shirt and boxer briefs, I climbed into bed with a notebook. The troopers’ attitude niggled at me. I leaned back against the pillows scribbling notes about the package delivery. Words ran across the page as the scene and the trooper came to mind. The trooper’s name wasn’t on his badge, but I remembered the badge number.

The pad propped against my knees, my mind drifted over the parcel and the officer’s attitude. Warm hazel green eyes along with the trooper’s cool manner had drawn my interest. It wasn’t really just his bearing that caught my attention either and it was a struggle to stay focused.

Intense eyes sat above a strong, chiseled nose and firm jaw. I sketched the features onto the pad of paper. His lips weren’t thin, not too wide, but just right for kissing. Wondering what it would be like to taste those lips, I gave myself a mental head slap. A cop is the last thing you want or need, my inner voice echoed. This voice always echoed dire warnings through my head. It had a bad habit of doing so at the worst possible moment. Just stay focused on Livvy, I lectured myself.

Snuggled under the lightweight blanket, thoughts about Livvy and our life played in my mind. Muscles relaxed, and I realized I needed to talk to her tomorrow. The graveyard was about two blocks away from the house. I often went to her grave for a conversation when I’d become involved in one issue or another. That’s what my life consisted of, one issue or another. Most of the time the issues were huge, never mundane, not ever.

I sighed, sniffed the sweet summer scents that wafted through the open window and wondered how this summer in Rhode Island would be. The pillow slipped lower and so did I as my mind wandered over life, the package and my aunt.

.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

As a humorous, cozy mystery writer, J.M. adds a touch of romance to every story. She believes in fairies, doesn't believe in coincidence, and feels life is what you make it. Believe in yourself and look at the positive, not the negative, to bring about success. AND. . .never stop trying.

J.M. lives in rural New England with her husband and two very mysterious cats

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/JM-Griffin/246751368685078

Website: http://www.JMGriffin.net

Twitter: mycozymystery

Blog: http://mycozymysteries.blogspot.com

Buy Link:

http://www.lachesispublishing.com/proddetail.asp?prod=EspositoBoxSet1-3E