Camy Tang's Blog, page 143
November 1, 2011
Protection for Hire Contest!
Captain's Log, Stardate 11.01.2011
I have a new contest to celebrate the release of my latest book, Protection for Hire, which releases (officially) on December 1st, 2011!
Contest dates: From October 20th, 2011 to 11:59 pm PST December 31st, 2011
This is a contest for my Street Team members ONLY. However, you can join my Street Team at any time during the contest! Email me to join my Street Team: camy [at} camytang [dot} com.
This is a point-based contest, where you earn points. No limit to the number of points you can get.
There are several ways you can get points:
A) Get people to sign up for my email newsletter (worth one point per person).
B) Get your friends to join my Street Team (worth 10 points per person).
C) Talk to your local Christian bookstore manager and ask him/her to email me (worth 10 points per store).
D) Talk to your local librarian and ask him/her to email me (worth 10 points per library).
E) Buy (or preorder) copies of Protection for Hire (worth 10 points per copy).
F) Read and post a review of Protection for Hire on Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, Christianbook.com, Shelfari.com or Goodreads.com (worth 10 points per review site, up to 50 points total).
G) Get your local book club members to read Protection for Hire (worth 50 points plus 10 points for each book ordered).
Get your book club to order their copies of Protection for Hire from me, and I will be happy to autograph the books individually to each person. I will also charge only $8 per book, with free shipping. I will also be happy to arrange a 30 minute Skype or telephone call with your book club.
Prizes
Prizes include:
A Kindle Touch or Nook Touch (winner's choice)
An ebook copy of The Twelve Dates of Christmas, a humorous contemporary romance novella I wrote which has never been published before! (This book is exclusive for my Street Team--this book will not be sold anywhere) (Sorry, no print copies)
Swag--T-shirts, mugs, hoodies, blankets, tote bags, etc.
Christian fiction
Knitted yummies by moi--scarves, shawls, socks, hats, sweaters, and also some hand-knitted yarn for my knitter/crocheter readers
Writing mentoring time
Prizes are on a tier system. More information on my Protection for Hire contest file, which Street Team members can download in the Files section of the Street Team YahooGroup.
Rules:
More information on my Protection for Hire contest file, which Street Team members can download in the Files section of the Street Team YahooGroup.
International readers are welcome to join my Street Team and enter the contest. (However, I will send all your prizes to you after the contest to save me money on postage.)
Please, no cheating. Cheaters will be disqualified from the contest and removed from the Street Team. For example, if several people send the same receipt for the same book(s) purchased in order to get points, everyone involved will be removed from the Street Team as a result.
If you have any questions, just email me! It could be that I need to clarify something in the contest rules, so don't be afraid to ask.
Have fun with this! And thanks so much for being part of my Street Team and helping to spread the word about my books!
I have a new contest to celebrate the release of my latest book, Protection for Hire, which releases (officially) on December 1st, 2011!Contest dates: From October 20th, 2011 to 11:59 pm PST December 31st, 2011
This is a contest for my Street Team members ONLY. However, you can join my Street Team at any time during the contest! Email me to join my Street Team: camy [at} camytang [dot} com.
This is a point-based contest, where you earn points. No limit to the number of points you can get.
There are several ways you can get points:
A) Get people to sign up for my email newsletter (worth one point per person).
B) Get your friends to join my Street Team (worth 10 points per person).
C) Talk to your local Christian bookstore manager and ask him/her to email me (worth 10 points per store).
D) Talk to your local librarian and ask him/her to email me (worth 10 points per library).
E) Buy (or preorder) copies of Protection for Hire (worth 10 points per copy).
F) Read and post a review of Protection for Hire on Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, Christianbook.com, Shelfari.com or Goodreads.com (worth 10 points per review site, up to 50 points total).
G) Get your local book club members to read Protection for Hire (worth 50 points plus 10 points for each book ordered).
Get your book club to order their copies of Protection for Hire from me, and I will be happy to autograph the books individually to each person. I will also charge only $8 per book, with free shipping. I will also be happy to arrange a 30 minute Skype or telephone call with your book club.
Prizes
Prizes include:
A Kindle Touch or Nook Touch (winner's choice)
An ebook copy of The Twelve Dates of Christmas, a humorous contemporary romance novella I wrote which has never been published before! (This book is exclusive for my Street Team--this book will not be sold anywhere) (Sorry, no print copies)
Swag--T-shirts, mugs, hoodies, blankets, tote bags, etc.
Christian fiction
Knitted yummies by moi--scarves, shawls, socks, hats, sweaters, and also some hand-knitted yarn for my knitter/crocheter readers
Writing mentoring time
Prizes are on a tier system. More information on my Protection for Hire contest file, which Street Team members can download in the Files section of the Street Team YahooGroup.
Rules:
More information on my Protection for Hire contest file, which Street Team members can download in the Files section of the Street Team YahooGroup.
International readers are welcome to join my Street Team and enter the contest. (However, I will send all your prizes to you after the contest to save me money on postage.)
Please, no cheating. Cheaters will be disqualified from the contest and removed from the Street Team. For example, if several people send the same receipt for the same book(s) purchased in order to get points, everyone involved will be removed from the Street Team as a result.
If you have any questions, just email me! It could be that I need to clarify something in the contest rules, so don't be afraid to ask.
Have fun with this! And thanks so much for being part of my Street Team and helping to spread the word about my books!
Street Team Book List excerpt - Maggie's Journey by Lena Nelson Dooley
Camy here: Here's another book I added to my Street Team book giveaway list! You can win this book by joining my Street Team--Click here for more info!
[image error] Maggie's Journey
by
Lena Nelson Dooley
Near her eighteenth birthday, Margaret Lenora Caine finds a chest hidden in the attic containing proof that she's adopted. The spoiled daughter of wealthy merchants in Seattle, she feels betrayed by her real parents and by the ones who raised her. But mystery surrounds her new discovery, and when Maggie uncovers another family secret, she loses all sense of identity. Leaving her home in Seattle, Washington, Maggie strikes out to find her destiny. Will Charles Stanton, who's been in love with her for years, be able to help her discover who she really is?
Excerpt of chapter one:
Margaret Lenora Caine sat in the library of their mansion on Beacon Hill. Because of the view of Puget Sound, which she loved, she had the brocade draperies pulled back to let the early September sunshine bathe the room with warmth. Basking in the bright light, Maggie concentrated on the sketch pad balanced on her lap. After leaning back to get the full effect of the drawing, she reached a finger to smudge the shadows between the folds of the skirt. With a neckline that revealed the shoulders, but still maintained complete modesty, this dress was her best design so far, one she planned to have Mrs. Murdock create in that dreamy, shimmery green material that came in the last shipment from China. Maggie knew silk was usually a summer fabric, but with it woven into a heavier brocade satin, it would be just right for her eighteenth birthday party. And with a few changes to the design, she could have another dress created as well.
Once again she leaned forward and drew a furbelow around the hem, shading it carefully to show depth. The added weight of the extra fabric would help the skirt maintain its shape, providing a pleasing silhouette at any ball. She pictured herself wearing the beautiful green dress, whirling in the arms of her partner, whoever he was. Maybe someone like Charles Stanton, since she'd admired him for several years, and he was so handsome.
"Margaret, what are you doing?"
The harsh question broke Maggie's concentration. The charcoal in her hand slipped, slashing an ugly smear across the sketch. She glanced at her mother standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her bosom. Maggie heaved a sigh loud enough to reach the entrance, and her mother's eyebrows arched so quickly Maggie wanted to laugh . . . almost, but she didn't dare add to whatever was bothering Mother now. Her stomach began to churn, a thoroughly uncomfortable sensation. Lately, everything she did put Mother in a bad mood. She searched her mind for whatever could have set her off this time. She came up with nothing, so she pasted a smile across her face.
"I'm sketching." She tried for a firm tone but wasn't sure it came across that way.
"You don't have time for that right now." Florence Caine hurried across the Persian wool carpet and stared down at her. "We have too much to do before your party."
Of course her mother was right, but Maggie thought she could take a few minutes to get the new design on paper while it was fresh in her mind. She glanced toward the mantel clock. Oh, no. Her few minutes had turned into over two hours. She'd lost herself in drawing designs again. No wonder Mother was exasperated.
She jumped up from the burgundy wing-back chair. "I didn't realize it was so late. I'm sorry, Mother."
Florence Caine took the sketch pad from her hand and studied the drawing with a critical eye. "That's a different design."
Maggie couldn't tell if she liked the dress or not, but it didn't matter. Designing was in Maggie's blood. Her grandmother was a dressmaker who came up with her own designs instead of using those in Godey's Lady's Book or Harper's Bazar. And, according to Mother's sister, she never even looked at a Butterick pattern. Aunt Georgia had told her often enough about all the society women who wouldn't let anyone but Agatha Carter make their clothing. They knew they wouldn't be meeting anyone else wearing the exact same thing when they attended social events in Little Rock, Arkansas. Not for the first time, Maggie wished she could talk to her grandmother at least once.
With the news about people being able to converse across long distances with something called the telephone, someday she might talk to her that way. But Maggie wanted a face-to-face meeting. Knowing another dress designer would keep her from feeling like such a misfit. Mother kept reminding her that she didn't really fit the mold of a young woman of their social standing in Seattle. At least, Daddy let her do what she wanted to. She didn't know what she'd do without him to offset Mother's insistence, which was becoming more and more harsh.
According to Aunt Georgia, the business Grandmother Carter started was still going strong, even though her grandmother had to be over sixty years old. Maggie planned to go visit her relatives in Arkansas, so she could tour the company. She hoped her journey would happen before she was too late to actually meet Agatha Carter. Her deepest desire was to follow in her grandmother's footsteps, since she had inherited her talents.
The sound of ripping tore through her thoughts. Aghast, she turned to catch her mother decimating her sketch. She lunged toward the paper, trying to save it, but Mother held the sketch just out of her reach.
"What are you doing?" Tears clogged her throat, but she struggled to hide them.
Dribbling the tiny pieces into the ornate wastepaper basket beside the mahogany desk, her mother looked up at her. "Just throwing it away. You had already ruined it anyway."
Anger sliced through Maggie's heart, leaving a jagged trail of pain. She still wanted to keep the sketch. She could use it while she created another. Her plan was to ask her father to help her surprise Mother. The design would set off her mother's tall stature and still youthful figure. She planned to ask him for a length of the special blue satin brocade that would bring out the color of Mother's eyes. The dress would make Mother the envy of most of her friends when the winter social season started in a couple of months. Now she'd have to begin the drawing all over again. So many hours of work and her dreams torn to shreds.
"Darling." That syrupy tone Mother used when she was trying to make a point grated on Maggie's nerves. "When are you going to grow up and forget about your little pictures of dresses?"
Little pictures of dresses? The words almost shredded the rest of Maggie's control. She gripped her hands into fists and twisted them inside the folds of her full skirt.
They'd had this discussion too many times already. She gritted her teeth, but it didn't help. In a few days she would be eighteen, old enough to make decisions for herself—whether her mother agreed or not.
She stood as tall as her tiny frame would allow her. "Those aren't just 'little drawings,' Mother. I am going to be a dress designer."
The icy disdain shooting from her mother's eyes made Maggie cringe inside, but she stood her ground.
"Margaret Lenora Caine, I am tired of these conversations. You will not become a working girl." Mother huffed out a very unladylike deep breath. "You don't need to. Your father has worked hard to provide a very good living for the three of us. I will not listen to any more of this nonsense."
Maggie had heard that phrase often enough, and she never liked it. Mother swept from the room as if she had the answer to everything, but she didn't. Not for Maggie. And her sketches were not nonsense.
She tried to remember the last time she pleased her mother. Had she ever really?
Her hair was too curly and hard to tame into a proper style. And the hue was too red. Maggie wouldn't stay out of the sun to prevent freckles from dotting her face. She could come up with a long list of her mother's complaints if she wanted to take the time. She wasn't that interested in what was going on among the elite in Seattle. She had more things to think about than how to catch a husband.
Maggie wanted to get married someday. But first she would follow her dream. Become the woman she was created to be. That meant being a dress designer, taking delight in making other women look their best. If it wasn't for Grandmother Carter, Maggie would think she had been born into the wrong family.
The enticing aroma of gingerbread called her toward the kitchen. Spending time with Mrs. Jorgensen was just what she needed right now. Since she didn't have any grandparents living close by, their cook and housekeeper substituted quite well in Maggie's mind.
She pushed open the door, wrinkling her nose and sniffing like the bunny in the back garden while she headed across the brick floor toward the cabinet where her older friend worked. "What is that heavenly smell?"
Mrs. Jorgensen turned with a warm smile. "As if you didn't already know. You've eaten enough of my gingerbread, for sure."
Pushing white tendrils from her forehead, the woman quickly sliced the spicy concoction and placed a large piece on a saucer while Maggie retrieved the butter from the ice box. Maggie slathered a thick coating on and watched it melt into the hot, brown bread.
"Here's something to drink." Mrs. Jorgensen set a glass of cold milk on the work table in the middle of the large room.
Maggie hopped up on a tall stool and took a sip, swinging her legs as she had when she was a little girl. Mother would have something else to complain about if she saw her. That's not ladylike and is most unbecoming. The oft-spoken words rang through Maggie's mind. But Mother hardly ever came into the kitchen. Mrs. Jorgensen met with Mother in her sitting room to plan the meals and the day's work schedule. "This is the only place in the house where I can just be myself." Maggie took a bite and let the spices dance along her tongue, savoring the sting of spices mixed with the sweetness of molasses. "Ja." The grandmotherly woman patted Maggie's shoulder. "So tell me what's bothering you, kära."
Print book:
Barnes and Noble
Amazon
Christianbook.com
BOOKSAMILLION.COM
Ebook:
Nookbook
Kindle
Christianbook.com
[image error]
[image error] Maggie's Journey
by
Lena Nelson Dooley
Near her eighteenth birthday, Margaret Lenora Caine finds a chest hidden in the attic containing proof that she's adopted. The spoiled daughter of wealthy merchants in Seattle, she feels betrayed by her real parents and by the ones who raised her. But mystery surrounds her new discovery, and when Maggie uncovers another family secret, she loses all sense of identity. Leaving her home in Seattle, Washington, Maggie strikes out to find her destiny. Will Charles Stanton, who's been in love with her for years, be able to help her discover who she really is?
Excerpt of chapter one:
Margaret Lenora Caine sat in the library of their mansion on Beacon Hill. Because of the view of Puget Sound, which she loved, she had the brocade draperies pulled back to let the early September sunshine bathe the room with warmth. Basking in the bright light, Maggie concentrated on the sketch pad balanced on her lap. After leaning back to get the full effect of the drawing, she reached a finger to smudge the shadows between the folds of the skirt. With a neckline that revealed the shoulders, but still maintained complete modesty, this dress was her best design so far, one she planned to have Mrs. Murdock create in that dreamy, shimmery green material that came in the last shipment from China. Maggie knew silk was usually a summer fabric, but with it woven into a heavier brocade satin, it would be just right for her eighteenth birthday party. And with a few changes to the design, she could have another dress created as well.
Once again she leaned forward and drew a furbelow around the hem, shading it carefully to show depth. The added weight of the extra fabric would help the skirt maintain its shape, providing a pleasing silhouette at any ball. She pictured herself wearing the beautiful green dress, whirling in the arms of her partner, whoever he was. Maybe someone like Charles Stanton, since she'd admired him for several years, and he was so handsome.
"Margaret, what are you doing?"
The harsh question broke Maggie's concentration. The charcoal in her hand slipped, slashing an ugly smear across the sketch. She glanced at her mother standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her bosom. Maggie heaved a sigh loud enough to reach the entrance, and her mother's eyebrows arched so quickly Maggie wanted to laugh . . . almost, but she didn't dare add to whatever was bothering Mother now. Her stomach began to churn, a thoroughly uncomfortable sensation. Lately, everything she did put Mother in a bad mood. She searched her mind for whatever could have set her off this time. She came up with nothing, so she pasted a smile across her face.
"I'm sketching." She tried for a firm tone but wasn't sure it came across that way.
"You don't have time for that right now." Florence Caine hurried across the Persian wool carpet and stared down at her. "We have too much to do before your party."
Of course her mother was right, but Maggie thought she could take a few minutes to get the new design on paper while it was fresh in her mind. She glanced toward the mantel clock. Oh, no. Her few minutes had turned into over two hours. She'd lost herself in drawing designs again. No wonder Mother was exasperated.
She jumped up from the burgundy wing-back chair. "I didn't realize it was so late. I'm sorry, Mother."
Florence Caine took the sketch pad from her hand and studied the drawing with a critical eye. "That's a different design."
Maggie couldn't tell if she liked the dress or not, but it didn't matter. Designing was in Maggie's blood. Her grandmother was a dressmaker who came up with her own designs instead of using those in Godey's Lady's Book or Harper's Bazar. And, according to Mother's sister, she never even looked at a Butterick pattern. Aunt Georgia had told her often enough about all the society women who wouldn't let anyone but Agatha Carter make their clothing. They knew they wouldn't be meeting anyone else wearing the exact same thing when they attended social events in Little Rock, Arkansas. Not for the first time, Maggie wished she could talk to her grandmother at least once.
With the news about people being able to converse across long distances with something called the telephone, someday she might talk to her that way. But Maggie wanted a face-to-face meeting. Knowing another dress designer would keep her from feeling like such a misfit. Mother kept reminding her that she didn't really fit the mold of a young woman of their social standing in Seattle. At least, Daddy let her do what she wanted to. She didn't know what she'd do without him to offset Mother's insistence, which was becoming more and more harsh.
According to Aunt Georgia, the business Grandmother Carter started was still going strong, even though her grandmother had to be over sixty years old. Maggie planned to go visit her relatives in Arkansas, so she could tour the company. She hoped her journey would happen before she was too late to actually meet Agatha Carter. Her deepest desire was to follow in her grandmother's footsteps, since she had inherited her talents.
The sound of ripping tore through her thoughts. Aghast, she turned to catch her mother decimating her sketch. She lunged toward the paper, trying to save it, but Mother held the sketch just out of her reach.
"What are you doing?" Tears clogged her throat, but she struggled to hide them.
Dribbling the tiny pieces into the ornate wastepaper basket beside the mahogany desk, her mother looked up at her. "Just throwing it away. You had already ruined it anyway."
Anger sliced through Maggie's heart, leaving a jagged trail of pain. She still wanted to keep the sketch. She could use it while she created another. Her plan was to ask her father to help her surprise Mother. The design would set off her mother's tall stature and still youthful figure. She planned to ask him for a length of the special blue satin brocade that would bring out the color of Mother's eyes. The dress would make Mother the envy of most of her friends when the winter social season started in a couple of months. Now she'd have to begin the drawing all over again. So many hours of work and her dreams torn to shreds.
"Darling." That syrupy tone Mother used when she was trying to make a point grated on Maggie's nerves. "When are you going to grow up and forget about your little pictures of dresses?"
Little pictures of dresses? The words almost shredded the rest of Maggie's control. She gripped her hands into fists and twisted them inside the folds of her full skirt.
They'd had this discussion too many times already. She gritted her teeth, but it didn't help. In a few days she would be eighteen, old enough to make decisions for herself—whether her mother agreed or not.
She stood as tall as her tiny frame would allow her. "Those aren't just 'little drawings,' Mother. I am going to be a dress designer."
The icy disdain shooting from her mother's eyes made Maggie cringe inside, but she stood her ground.
"Margaret Lenora Caine, I am tired of these conversations. You will not become a working girl." Mother huffed out a very unladylike deep breath. "You don't need to. Your father has worked hard to provide a very good living for the three of us. I will not listen to any more of this nonsense."
Maggie had heard that phrase often enough, and she never liked it. Mother swept from the room as if she had the answer to everything, but she didn't. Not for Maggie. And her sketches were not nonsense.
She tried to remember the last time she pleased her mother. Had she ever really?
Her hair was too curly and hard to tame into a proper style. And the hue was too red. Maggie wouldn't stay out of the sun to prevent freckles from dotting her face. She could come up with a long list of her mother's complaints if she wanted to take the time. She wasn't that interested in what was going on among the elite in Seattle. She had more things to think about than how to catch a husband.
Maggie wanted to get married someday. But first she would follow her dream. Become the woman she was created to be. That meant being a dress designer, taking delight in making other women look their best. If it wasn't for Grandmother Carter, Maggie would think she had been born into the wrong family.
The enticing aroma of gingerbread called her toward the kitchen. Spending time with Mrs. Jorgensen was just what she needed right now. Since she didn't have any grandparents living close by, their cook and housekeeper substituted quite well in Maggie's mind.
She pushed open the door, wrinkling her nose and sniffing like the bunny in the back garden while she headed across the brick floor toward the cabinet where her older friend worked. "What is that heavenly smell?"
Mrs. Jorgensen turned with a warm smile. "As if you didn't already know. You've eaten enough of my gingerbread, for sure."
Pushing white tendrils from her forehead, the woman quickly sliced the spicy concoction and placed a large piece on a saucer while Maggie retrieved the butter from the ice box. Maggie slathered a thick coating on and watched it melt into the hot, brown bread.
"Here's something to drink." Mrs. Jorgensen set a glass of cold milk on the work table in the middle of the large room.
Maggie hopped up on a tall stool and took a sip, swinging her legs as she had when she was a little girl. Mother would have something else to complain about if she saw her. That's not ladylike and is most unbecoming. The oft-spoken words rang through Maggie's mind. But Mother hardly ever came into the kitchen. Mrs. Jorgensen met with Mother in her sitting room to plan the meals and the day's work schedule. "This is the only place in the house where I can just be myself." Maggie took a bite and let the spices dance along her tongue, savoring the sting of spices mixed with the sweetness of molasses. "Ja." The grandmotherly woman patted Maggie's shoulder. "So tell me what's bothering you, kära."
Print book:
Barnes and Noble
Amazon
Christianbook.com
BOOKSAMILLION.COM
Ebook:
Nookbook
Kindle
Christianbook.com
[image error]
October 31, 2011
City Bakery Hot Chocolate take one
Captain's Log, Stardate 10.31.2011
While doing research on a new book proposal, I was reading a book set at Christmas and was inspired to make hot chocolate. But not just any hot chocolate--I wanted to try to reproduce the orgasmic (yes I just said orgasmic) hot chocolate that I had with my friends Allie Pleiter and Danica Favorite at City Bakery in New York City. Allie blogged about it at the bottom of this post. It was seriously that good.
So I found several recipes and cobbled together this one:
Pour 2 cups milk into a saucepan, whisk in 1 teaspoon cornstarch. Heat on medium heat until steaming, then add 12-13 ounces bar chocolate (not baking chocolate) chopped into small pieces. Whisk to melt the chocolate, enjoy with pretzels in lieu of the wonderful pretzel croissant we had at City Bakery.
Unfortunately, while good, the hot chocolate was not thick enough. The City Bakery stuff literally globbed into the cup, it was that thick. Next time, I think I will add less milk and more cornstarch. And what the heck, maybe more chocolate too.
Any good chocolate stories? Recipes I should try?
[image error]
While doing research on a new book proposal, I was reading a book set at Christmas and was inspired to make hot chocolate. But not just any hot chocolate--I wanted to try to reproduce the orgasmic (yes I just said orgasmic) hot chocolate that I had with my friends Allie Pleiter and Danica Favorite at City Bakery in New York City. Allie blogged about it at the bottom of this post. It was seriously that good.So I found several recipes and cobbled together this one:
Pour 2 cups milk into a saucepan, whisk in 1 teaspoon cornstarch. Heat on medium heat until steaming, then add 12-13 ounces bar chocolate (not baking chocolate) chopped into small pieces. Whisk to melt the chocolate, enjoy with pretzels in lieu of the wonderful pretzel croissant we had at City Bakery.
Unfortunately, while good, the hot chocolate was not thick enough. The City Bakery stuff literally globbed into the cup, it was that thick. Next time, I think I will add less milk and more cornstarch. And what the heck, maybe more chocolate too.
Any good chocolate stories? Recipes I should try?
[image error]
October 27, 2011
Clutter
Captain's Log, Stardate 10.27.2011
I'm over at the Girls, God, and the Good Life blog with something a bit less serious (like that's a surprise) about a secret I learned relating to my work efficiency and concentration.
I'm over at the Girls, God, and the Good Life blog with something a bit less serious (like that's a surprise) about a secret I learned relating to my work efficiency and concentration.
October 25, 2011
Ebooks, DRMs, and consignment stores
Captain's Log, Stardate 10.25.2011
I'm over at the ChristiansRead blog today with an article that might interest some of you:
Click here to read the rest of the article.
I'm over at the ChristiansRead blog today with an article that might interest some of you:
I was running today and came up with this neat way to explain ebooks and DRM to people. I hope this helps some of you who are confused about the different ebook readers and types of ebook files.
Click here to read the rest of the article.
October 21, 2011
Street Team book list excerpt - Wonderland Creek by Lynn Austin
Camy here: Here's another book I added to my Street Team book giveaway list! You can win this book by joining my Street Team--Click here for more info!
Wonderland Creek
by
Lynn Austin
Alice Grace Ripley lives in a dream world, her nose stuck in a book. But happily-ever-after life she's planned on suddenly falls apart when her boyfriend, Gordon, breaks up with her, accusing her of living in a world of fiction instead of the real world. Then to top it off, Alice loses her beloved job at the library because of cutbacks due to the Great Depression.
Fleeing small-town gossip, Alice heads to the mountains of eastern Kentucky to deliver five boxes of donated books to the library in the tiny coal-mining village of Acorn. Dropped off by her relatives, Alice volunteers to stay for two weeks to help the librarian, Leslie McDougal.
But the librarian turns out to be far different than she anticipated--not to mention the four lady librarians who travel to the remote homes to deliver the much-desired books. While Alice is trapped in Acorn against her will, she soon finds that real-life adventure and mystery--and especially romance--are far better than her humble dreams could have imagined.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Wonderland Creek
Print book:
Barnes and Noble
Amazon
Christianbook.com
BOOKSAMILLION.COM
Ebook:
Nookbook
Kindle
Christianbook.com
BOOKSAMILLION.COM
Wonderland Creek by
Lynn Austin
Alice Grace Ripley lives in a dream world, her nose stuck in a book. But happily-ever-after life she's planned on suddenly falls apart when her boyfriend, Gordon, breaks up with her, accusing her of living in a world of fiction instead of the real world. Then to top it off, Alice loses her beloved job at the library because of cutbacks due to the Great Depression.
Fleeing small-town gossip, Alice heads to the mountains of eastern Kentucky to deliver five boxes of donated books to the library in the tiny coal-mining village of Acorn. Dropped off by her relatives, Alice volunteers to stay for two weeks to help the librarian, Leslie McDougal.
But the librarian turns out to be far different than she anticipated--not to mention the four lady librarians who travel to the remote homes to deliver the much-desired books. While Alice is trapped in Acorn against her will, she soon finds that real-life adventure and mystery--and especially romance--are far better than her humble dreams could have imagined.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Wonderland Creek
Print book:
Barnes and Noble
Amazon
Christianbook.com
BOOKSAMILLION.COM
Ebook:
Nookbook
Kindle
Christianbook.com
BOOKSAMILLION.COM
Pardon the construction ...
Captain's Log, Stardate 10.20.2011
Sorry the blog looks weird (actually, I'm not sure if it looks weird on your computer browsers, but it does on mine).
I'm in the process of moving to a new host server. My website was down for a little while earlier this week (so if you emailed me and it bounced, I'm sorry about that!) but things should be fine now.
In all the moving, my blog design wasn't moved over seamlessly but I've got a website guru looking into that for me. In the meantime, sorry for the construction! :)
If you haven't yet, please check out my website and let me know what you think. You might have seen this design from a few months ago, but it changed a tiny bit when I switched to my new host server.
http://www.camytang.com
Also, I just launched a new Street Team contest. So if you haven't signed up for my Street Team yet, what are you waiting for? It's fun and you can win lots of prizes!
Sorry the blog looks weird (actually, I'm not sure if it looks weird on your computer browsers, but it does on mine).
I'm in the process of moving to a new host server. My website was down for a little while earlier this week (so if you emailed me and it bounced, I'm sorry about that!) but things should be fine now.
In all the moving, my blog design wasn't moved over seamlessly but I've got a website guru looking into that for me. In the meantime, sorry for the construction! :)
If you haven't yet, please check out my website and let me know what you think. You might have seen this design from a few months ago, but it changed a tiny bit when I switched to my new host server.
http://www.camytang.com
Also, I just launched a new Street Team contest. So if you haven't signed up for my Street Team yet, what are you waiting for? It's fun and you can win lots of prizes!
October 19, 2011
Street Team book list excerpt - Love on the Line by Deeanne Gist
Camy here: Here's another book I added to my Street Team book giveaway list! You can win this book by joining my Street Team--Click here for more info!
Love on the Line
by
Deeanne Gist
Rural switchboard operator Georgie Gail is proud of her independence in a man's world ... which makes it twice as vexing when the telephone company sends a man to look over her shoulder.
Dashing Luke Palmer is more than he appears though. He's a Texas Ranger working undercover to infiltrate a notorious gang of train robbers. Repairing telephones and tangling with this tempestuous woman is the last thing he wants to do. But when his stakeout puts Georgie in peril, he realizes more than his job is on the line.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Love on the Line
Print book:
Barnes and Noble
Amazon
Christianbook.com
BOOKSAMILLION.COM
Ebook:
Nookbook
Kindle
Christianbook.com
Love on the Lineby
Deeanne Gist
Rural switchboard operator Georgie Gail is proud of her independence in a man's world ... which makes it twice as vexing when the telephone company sends a man to look over her shoulder.
Dashing Luke Palmer is more than he appears though. He's a Texas Ranger working undercover to infiltrate a notorious gang of train robbers. Repairing telephones and tangling with this tempestuous woman is the last thing he wants to do. But when his stakeout puts Georgie in peril, he realizes more than his job is on the line.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Love on the Line
Print book:
Barnes and Noble
Amazon
Christianbook.com
BOOKSAMILLION.COM
Ebook:
Nookbook
Kindle
Christianbook.com
October 18, 2011
Excerpt - Freezing Point by Elizabeth Goddard
Freezing Pointby
Elizabeth Goddard
Casey Wilkes didn't realize her simple human-interest story would put her life at risk—again. After fleeing her home and journalism job in Portland, she wanted to live under the radar for a while. But when her interviewee starts dodging her questions, her reporter instincts kick in and she finds herself in over her head….
Homeland security agent Jesse Mitchell has been undercover as an ice sculptor for months, trying to infiltrate a smuggling ring. He wants to avoid trouble, and that's just what Casey brings. Now someone has a target set on Casey. Saving her could blow his cover, but leaving her unprotected endangers him even more—especially his heart.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Beautiful…but dangerous.
Jesse finished shoving the last block of dry ice into the back of the specially designed truck—well insulated, yet ventilated to allow for sublimation—the melting that would give off deadly CO2gas.
The solid form of carbon dioxide would be used to create the snow effect around the ice sculptures along with fog—a mysterious yet stunning display.
He tugged off the gloves used to protect his hands from ice burns or, worse, frostbite. Because his father was a chef and master ice sculptor, Jesse had learned a few techniques of his own, even entering competitions during his college days.
That's what made him the perfect candidate for this covert operation, and the only reason Robert McCoffey, his superior, had pulled Jesse from the desk job and visits to the psychiatrist and put him back into the action. Working as an undercover agent for Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Jesse had nearly blown his last assignment and thought he'd never get the chance to restore his reputation and career.
But ICE's bulk cash and smuggling division decided Helms Ice and Trucking Company was hot—laundering money for the Mexican cartel—and they wanted someone on the inside. Since the trucking company also had a catering side business specializing in ice sculptures, Jesse was it.
He shoved his hand through his hair. God had some sense of humor.
Miguel grinned as he assisted Jesse in closing off the back of the truck. He signaled to the driver that the truck was ready to go, and it lumbered away from the loading dock.
"You okay today?" Miguel asked.
"Everything's great," Jesse lied. With his superiors breathing down his neck, he had to come up with something and soon. He'd already been working undercover too long for his own good.
"You'd better get back to your hole. You got another gig in a few days." Miguel strode over to a counter and grabbed a pack of cigarettes.
Though Miguel referred to the ice-sculpture competition that Jesse needed to prepare for, Jesse was concerned about a far different gig, and that's what had him on edge today. He was desperate to get in on what he believed would be the next transport of bulk cash. As the truck departed, Jesse fought the tensing in his gut. Could this truck be driving off with millions in cash tucked away behind or in the ice, and Jesse had somehow missed it?
Carlos returned from his break. "We expecting another truck in a few?"
"You're not going anywhere. Jesse's got his own work. You're lucky he was here to cover for you," Miguel said.
Carlos gave a halfhearted snarl. Jesse didn't like the guy. After years spent working undercover assignments, Jesse had learned there were some people you met while undercover that you grew to care about and others you grew to hate. Carlos was someone to hate. He had no doubt that Carlos was capable of much worse than smuggling cash. He might have committed the murder on the loading dock that occurred several months ago, bringing the police down on this place and the cash smuggling operations to a complete halt for a few weeks.
Jesse had to remain and bide his time until things began moving again. Though he had proof of several small transactions, those crimes had already occurred. His goal was to gather intelligence, figure out all the players and be witness to the movement of a large amount of cash—catching them in the act. This would bring stiffer penalties under federal law.
When Carlos's eyes slid toward him, Jesse turned his back on the man. "Later," he said, and headed for the exit.
He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. Guys like Carlos were the reason Jesse had grown to loathe working undercover. Memories from his last assignment flooded his mind—a man struggling with the thugs of a drug ring Jesse had infiltrated. He'd lived with the nightmare day and night. Jesse could have stepped into the fray, but that would have been kicking his cover in the teeth. He'd almost cracked under the moral dilemma. If only Jesse had gone a little out of his way, he could have prevented the man from strolling around the corner at that precise moment—the exact wrong moment. He would never allow that to happen again.
He promised himself then that once he got out, he'd never go back. In the end, he'd almost blown the mission and been reprimanded before being returned to a desk job. After months living life undercover as a drug runner, learning to walk and talk like them, to avoid the cops, he'd struggled to fit in with his fellow agents again.
What had the psychiatrist told him? "You 're suffering from anxiety and extreme suspiciousness." That he was near the breaking point.
A shiver swept over him when he passed the room-size freezer that took up a quarter of the loading dock. At the moment, he felt like he was near the freezing point—if he worked like this for much longer, his heart would turn stone-cold.
Right now, he knew one thing—if he wanted to transfer programs within the agency, he'd have to earn back the respect of his supervisors and the confidence of his fellow agents.
In order to do that he'd have to see this case through and make the bust of these so-called untouchables.
Nothing or no one would stand in his way this time. Nor would he allow anyone to stumble upon Carlos and Miguel on the loading dock. Not again. Not on his watch.
Casey Wilkes stood outside a door with a nameplate indicating it was the ice-sculpting studio, which she presumed was where she could find the ice sculptor. After knocking and receiving no response, she jiggled the doorknob.
Locked.
She forced her shoulders back, unwilling to give in to defeat. The receptionist probably lied to get rid of Casey, telling her the ice sculptor was here. The cute little brunette had been instructed not to allow visitors beyond the foyer, but Casey had pulled a trump card—she was the owner's niece, and needed an interview.
Casey didn't mention that until this week, she'd lived in a little town near Portland, Oregon—a far cry from Orange Crossings near San Diego—and had never been to the ice company before. Nor did she mention that John Helms had married her aunt three years ago, and Casey didn't know him that well.
She had no idea if Uncle John would allow her to get an interview, but since he and Aunt Leann were out of the country, traveling in Europe somewhere, and everyone else was leaving for the day or had already gone, there wasn't anyone around to question.
The receptionist didn't want to get fired for denying the owner's niece entry.
Casey looked down the hallway where she'd just walked. Helms Ice and Trucking Company conducted business from a large multifaceted warehouse, part of which had been converted into an office complex. Maybe the guy was around here somewhere.
Get the interview with the sculptor and you have a job.
The newspaper editor's words emboldened her, propelling her through a door and down another hallway where a few people remained working in their offices. A couple of women chatted and laughed when they passed her in the corridor—probably heading home for the day since they both held their purses—only giving her a cursory glance.
"Excuse me," Casey said.
The ladies paused and glanced back, as though uncertain Casey was talking to them.
"I'm looking for Jesse Dufour, the ice sculptor. He's not in his studio. Any ideas where I can find him?"
"Can't help you. Although…" The tall slender woman paused and stared at the ceiling for a moment as though gathering her thoughts. "His sculptures have to be delivered at some point, so try the loading dock."
"Thanks." Casey turned and walked in the opposite direction before it occurred to her she wasn't sure where to find the loading dock.
An unmarked exit and dark corridor later, she heard a voice behind a door and decided to ask for help. This was getting ridiculous.
After a quick, light knock, she opened the door to a small dimly lit room cluttered with papers strewn on empty desks and rank with the smell of cigarette smoke. A man stood in a shadowed corner, talking on his cell.
Finally. Relieved, she waited for him to notice her. As soon as he did, he stopped talking and skewered her with his gaze.
She shivered and sensed the sudden chill had nothing to do with the cold room.
Casey offered an apologetic look for interrupting his private communication and began backing from the room. Wait. He could answer a simple question.
"I'm sorry to bother you. Can you point me to the loading dock?"
The man scowled and pointed at the door. Casey frowned. Maybe she should have asked a different question.
As she made her way down a long corridor devoid of life and through another doorway, she prayed she would run into friendlier natives who could help her find the loading dock, or at least tell her where to find the ice sculptor.
In the shadows between boxes stacked to the ceiling, the only light streamed from a small window in a thick door of—if she had to guess, she'd say a giant freezer. She dropped her bag onto a box to give her shoulder a brief reprieve and examined the digital thermometer next to the door. Fifteen degrees. Definitely, it was some sort of cold storage room. She trembled.
This place was a veritable maze, and though as a seasoned reporter she hated to admit it, now she was lost.
From behind, a hand clamped her shoulder.
Her heart ricocheted. She jerked around to find a man with piercing blue eyes staring back. Though the look on his face was anything but friendly, relief swept through her.
For a fleeting moment, she feared Will Tannin had caught up with her. In almost the same manner, Tannin had grabbed her from behind and detailed how he planned to torture then kill her. Her throat constricted at the memory.
She'd fled Oregon that night a week ago.
But this man didn't have the look of a crazed killer. She should know. Her breathing slowed, if only a little.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
Taken aback at his guarded tone, Casey struggled for words. "I'm sorry, I—"
"You shouldn't be here. Let's go." He glanced over her shoulder at something behind her, a sense of urgency in his eyes, and grabbed her arm. "The loading dock is off-limits to visitors. It isn't safe. You could get hurt."
Ah, so she'd at least found the loading dock. A small comfort.
Maintaining his hold on her, he tried to lead her away.
Casey stood her ground, attempting to tug her arm free. "Hey, you don't have to drag me."
"You'll follow me out?" He took his time slipping his hand away, looking into her eyes for assurance that she would obey.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" This was weird. Could Tannin have sent him? Dread stalked through her.
No. This insane fear of Tannin had to stop right now.
Again, he glanced behind her, deep lines of concern creasing his brow. She followed the guy into the corridor and then into an empty office. She figured he was escorting her somewhere "safe" to talk.
Once inside, she turned around to face him. He was closing the door. "Wait a minute. What are you doing?"
He ran a hand down his face. "The question is who are you and what were you doing trespassing?"
She opened her mouth to reply, but he had her there. "My name is Casey Wilkes. I'm a reporter here to do a story on the ice sculptor. That's all." She cringed inside. Since she was trying to fall off the grid, she'd have to remember to use her recently assumed pen name, Carson Williams.
While he appeared to contemplate her words, she studied him. If they'd met on different terms, she might have found him attractive. Scratch that. Regardless of the terms, he was good-looking. Thick dark hair, troubled but intense blue eyes and a strong clean-shaven jaw. She'd experienced firsthand that he was strong and muscular. Heat crawled up her neck.
Casey blew out a breath.
For a moment, she thought his expression might have softened but it hardened again. "A reporter, huh? That still gives you no right—"
"I'm sorry. I got lost and ended up on the loading dock. Why don't you just ask me to leave?"
"All right. Would you please leave?"
Something about his actions weren't tracking, but Casey didn't want to leave. Not really. She'd come here for a reason. She stomped to the door and placed her hand on the knob.
He put his hand over hers, sending a warm shudder through her. She yanked it back.
"Not so fast," he said.
"You can't keep me here." Her defiant words mocked her. He could, actually, and that scared her.
This time his gaze softened. "Look, if you want an interview with the ice sculptor, all you have to do is ask."
Casey felt like an idiot. He was right, and she wanted to explain, to start over. "The receptionist sent me back to look for him. But he wasn't in the studio, so…"
His mouth quirked in a grin and he crossed his arms, leaning against the door. She'd bet that was on purpose. "So, you thought you'd explore. What could it hurt, right? You might uncover the scoop of the century."
She hadn't gotten where she was today…Queasiness swirled inside. Where exactly was she today in her rising career as an investigative reporter?
Running for her life.
Still, his playful tone managed to bring a smile to the corner of her mouth. "Something like that." She wanted to kick herself. Oh, I am not responding to his flirting! Nix this.
He thrust his hand out. "I'm Jesse Dufour, the ice sculptor."
Print book:
Harlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10AFFO at checkout!)
Barnes and Noble
Amazon
Christianbook.com
BOOKSAMILLION.COM
Ebook:
Harlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10AFFO at checkout!)
Nookbook
Kindle
BOOKSAMILLION.COM
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October 17, 2011
Excerpt - Princess in Peril by Rachelle McCalla
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Princess in Peril
by
Rachelle McCalla
When insurgents attack the king's motorcade, scattering the royal family, bodyguard Levi Granaldo has one goal—to protect the princess. Even though he knows Princess Isabelle distrusts him. On the run together, they flee to New York, to the shelter of a sanctuary established by Levi's father. But their safety can't last. After a surprise attack divides the pair, Isabelle is forced to face some hard truths. The danger she's in is getting deadlier by the day…and she'll never be able to face it without Levi by her side.
Excerpt of chapter one:
The royal motorcade lurched to an unexpected stop. Her Royal Highness Princess Isabelle of Lydia glanced at Levi Grenaldo, her recently appointed bodyguard, expecting him to make some reassuring gesture that would indicate nothing was amiss.
He didn't look her way. In the silvery sheen of his mirrored sunglasses, Isabelle saw only the rear bumper of her brother's limousine sitting still on the road in front of them. The seconds ticked by and they sat, unmoving, in the narrow streets of Sardis, Lydia's capital city.
Something had to be wrong. The motorcade represented the power and pageantry of the royal family and therefore never stopped until it arrived at its destination.
"Why are we stopped?"
Levi didn't acknowledge her question, but instead pressed the button for the intercom and told the driver, "Get us off this street."
When the driver hesitated, Levi pressed the button again. "Now."
Much as she wanted to remain calm, Isabelle felt her fingers tighten as they gripped the edge of the leather seat. She didn't like anything about this situation. For one thing, she didn't trust Levi.
He'd been abruptly appointed as her personal bodyguard five days earlier with no explanation given, and on top of that, he didn't fit the profile for a bodyguard. Although he was plenty tall and his shoulders were broad with muscles, he was otherwise trim, and the dark angles of his beard gave his face a scholarly look. Unlike all the bodyguards she'd ever had before, his neck wasn't thicker than his head, and he looked unusually sharp in the tuxedo he wore for the state dinner they were about to attend.
Besides that, the bodyguard read books. Intelligent ones. She'd seen him with his nose buried in political tomes whenever he waited for her to finish an appointment.
Out of place as those attributes seemed, what really bothered her was the way he overrode her requests and limited her freedom. As the eldest daughter of King Philip and Queen Elaine, Isabelle was used to having to change her plans to protect her safety, but Levi's impediments went far beyond the usual. They'd butted heads several times. After three days she'd asked to have him removed, but her father had refused her request.
All her instincts told her something was amiss.
The driver had the car two points into what promised to be an eighteen-point turn on the narrow street when suddenly a deafening blast rent the air, rattling the official limo, and an orange ball of fire seared the sky in front of them.
Levi's hand mashed the intercom button.
"Back! Back! Now!"
A second explosion rocked the air even closer behind them, and Isabelle felt the car shudder. Though the royal limousines were made of bulletproof materials, she doubted they'd be any match for that kind of explosion. Her heart twisted with concern for the rest of her family. Alexander, her only living brother, rode in the limousine ahead of her, which didn't appear to have been damaged by the blast, but her parents' car was out of sight ahead of those carrying other royal officials. It would have been close to where the first explosion hit.
And her sister, Anastasia, rode in a car somewhere behind hers. Black smoke filled the air. Isabelle couldn't see any sign of her sister's car.
Levi cracked the door open and looked down at the street, letting in a wave of heat and the stench of fire and explosives.
"Shut that!" Isabelle lunged past him to close the door, mindful that, inadequate as the car might seem against the fiery blasts, it was the only protection they had.
He pulled the door closed and would have met her eyes had his not been hidden behind his ever-present sunglasses. But his face was suddenly far closer than she was used to her bodyguards' faces being, even in the midst of pressing crowds and certainly not in the backseat of a car.
His hand hit the intercom again. "Back up three feet and a little to the left."
The driver obeyed promptly this time.
Even before the limousine had come to a stop, Levi had the door open again. He leaned out and wrestled with something on the ground.
For a second, Isabelle thought about shoving him out and locking the door after him. But much as she didn't like the man, she wouldn't stoop to such a move just to keep herself safe, though his actions seemed to endanger both of them, and it frightened her.
A moment later he pulled the door closed again and slid back, slipping one arm solidly around her waist.
Isabelle gave a yelp and tried to jump away.
The vise of his arms didn't allow her to budge. "Your Highness, I'm going to open the door and we're both going down the manhole."
"No!" She twisted her torso in an attempt to free herself.
Levi had her clamped against him so securely she couldn't move more than an inch in any direction. The touch of his hands and the tenacity of his grip sent memories scurrying out from the dark corners of her mind—memories she'd hoped to keep hidden forever.
She felt his neatly trimmed beard brush her temple as he spoke briskly into her ear. "Once I open the door we'll be vulnerable. We need to get below ground as quickly as possible. Don't fight me."
Isabelle took a shaky breath. To his credit, though he held her immobile, Levi wasn't squeezing her too hard for her to breathe. Maybe it was that small allowance that made her decide to trust him.
Or maybe it was because she didn't have any choice.
"The car is bulletproof," she reminded him in one last attempt to derail his plan. "We won't be safe if we leave it."
Another blast rocked the air, and the hood from another vehicle crashed against the limousine's windshield, the royal hood ornament visible for just a second as the dented metal scraped past them.
"We won't be safe if we stay here." Levi reached across the seat. "You can take your purse." He shoved the satin clutch into her hands. "Anything else you need?"
Isabelle tried to think, but her mind was filled with fears for the safety of the rest of her family. Judging by the proximity of the last blast, she was nearly certain it had been centered just ahead of Alexander's limo. That may have been the hood of his car that had fractured their windshield! She couldn't see anything through the black smoke, but she sent up a silent prayer and forced herself not to act on the instinct to leap from the safety of her vehicle to look for her brother. He was a grown man and a soldier. Surely he knew more than she did about staying alive.
"On three." Levi's words jerked her thoughts away from her brother and back to the crazy-sounding plan to leap through the manhole. "One, two—"
With no time to protest, Isabelle pinched her eyes shut as Levi opened the door and, in one swift movement, pulled her from the vehicle and shuttled her through the hole in the pavement. Much as she didn't trust him, she knew the danger outside was real, and she didn't want to be exposed to it any longer than was absolutely necessary. For that reason only, she cooperated with his actions.
She opened her eyes as the soles of her leather pumps slid against the slippery metal bars that formed a ladder secured to the wall of the tunnel. Although she couldn't get purchase on any of the rungs, Levi seemed to have a steady hold on both the ladder and her. She wished she'd chosen to wear something a bit more practical than a silk, floor-length evening gown, but the dress had been the perfect choice for the state dinner she was now about to miss.
Her trembling hands reached for the bars, and she managed to grip one securely.
"Hold on tight." Levi's instructions sounded close to her ear. "Got it?"
Unable to muster up words, she nodded. He surely couldn't see much in the darkness of the hole, but he must have felt her movement because he let go of her and reached above them to pull the manhole cover shut.
Metal grated against pavement and Levi's body rocked as he muscled the cover back into place above their heads.
Orange fire flashed above them and Isabelle felt its heat penetrate their hiding place.
Levi immediately let go of the manhole cover to shield her. As the simmering air stilled, he slid the manhole cover the last couple of inches closed, leaving them in total darkness. "Are you okay?"
Isabelle could feel herself trembling, but she forced her voice to speak. "Fine. You?"
"Fine," he echoed.
"You didn't scorch your hands, did you?"
"Not too bad."
Isabelle was aware that he hadn't denied being injured, but because he didn't complain, she didn't press the question. It wasn't as though she could do anything for him at the moment.
With the manhole cover blocking out all light, the darkness was damp and absolute, and Isabelle felt a wave of terror wash over her. Who was this man, and what were his intentions? What did the explosions above mean? And where were they? Her nose told her it wasn't the sewer.
"Can you climb down, Princess?" Levi's voice surprised her with its closeness.
Suddenly mindful of her position wrapped in the arms of a man she didn't trust, Isabelle resisted going any farther. Gripping the metal bar a little tighter, she ignored his prompt.
"What was that?"
"Ambush." He stated flatly. "Let's get moving."
Isabelle reached upward for the next higher rung. "My family is up there. My brother's car—"
"You're not going back up." Levi tugged her back down, closer against him.
The grip of his arms in the darkness brought more horrible memories rushing back. She fought him instinctively. "No! I don't know who you are or what you're doing—"
"Your father hired me to protect you." Levi's arms were too strong for her, and her position on the slippery metal rungs was a precarious one.
She tried to fight back. "The royal motorcade was ambushed and now you're trying to kidnap me. I demand to know why!"
Instead of responding, Levi wrenched her free of the rungs and climbed downward with her more or less slung across his shoulders. "We need to get moving. If the lid on this hole sustains a direct hit, you could be killed standing where you are."
"Where am I?" A shudder of fear chased through her, but Isabelle stopped fighting and relented to being carried down the dark hole. She felt the vibrations as another explosion rocked the earth in spite of the thick stone that surrounded them, so she didn't doubt Levi's warning was sincere.
"The Catacombs of Charlemagne."
Isabelle startled and nearly fell out of Levi's arms. He obviously hadn't expected her to jolt at his words.
"We're in the Catacombs of Charlemagne?"
"Yes."
"But they were filled in more than a thousand years ago." Her words, spoken in an awed whisper, echoed through the empty chamber.
"Your father had them excavated." Levi climbed downward, his movements slow and deliberate in the darkness.
"How do you know that, and I don't?" Isabelle couldn't fathom why her father hadn't told her. And how had Levi learned of them?
"I was just wondering the same thing." Levi's voice echoed louder, and Isabelle realized the chamber had widened with their descent. He continued. "Actually, your greatgrandfather King Alexander III began the excavation during the first World War, thinking the royal family might need the catacombs to escape if they were ever threatened on their own soil." His posture changed as he let go of the ladder, and Isabelle heard the scraping sound of his shoes against the floor of the tunnel. "Little did your great-grandfather know, he was right—just a century off."
Isabelle wished she could see his face, but the utter darkness hid everything. So much had happened so quickly, she wasn't sure she entirely understood what Levi was talking about. "The catacombs run beneath the city of Sardis." She recalled from history lessons. "Charlemagne built them in the ninth century when he used Lydia as an outpost in his attempt to further his kingdom and the spread of Christianity toward the east."
In a patient-sounding voice, Levi continued the story. "Lydia has always been a Christian nation, so they supported Charlemagne's efforts."
"Even though he was eventually thwarted." Isabelle wasn't sure how large a space they occupied, but from the way their voices carried, she judged it to be at least a few meters wide, with a ceiling well above their heads. Tentatively she stepped away from Levi, half expecting to feel cold stone against her back. She felt nothing. With a shiver, she took a step back toward him, unwilling to lose her only human contact in the vast darkness.
"Stay near me." He cautioned her abruptly. "We need to get moving."
Isabelle gulped a breath of the cool underground air. She had to think. Too much about this situation wasn't right, and just because the man knew about the catacombs, that didn't mean she ought to trust him. After all, there was surely little coincidence between the timing of his appointment and the attack on the royal motorcade. For all she knew he was in on the ambush and had brought her into the tunnel to finish her off or hand her over to a political enemy.
But how could she sort out what to do when she couldn't even see?
Levi tugged on her arm.
"Hold on." Isabelle pulled her cell phone from her purse and flicked it open, illuminating the screen, its miniscule light startling in the utter darkness of the tunnel, casting their faces and the rock walls around them in an eerie greenish glow.
"Thank you. That helps." Levi offered her a slight smile.
To Isabelle, his angled lips looked sinister in the flickering light. "You should take your sunglasses off."
As she watched his face, his jaw tightened under his close-cropped beard. He seemed reluctant to remove the mirrored shades, which, together with the facial hair, hid his face almost completely. At his hesitation, Isabelle realized she'd never seen him without the sunglasses on, not even indoors. For a moment, she wondered why.
Then he slowly peeled back the lenses and she knew the answer.
Print book:
Harlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10AFFO at checkout!)
Barnes and Noble
Amazon
Christianbook.com
BOOKSAMILLION.COM
Ebook:
Harlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10AFFO at checkout!)
Nookbook
Kindle
BOOKSAMILLION.COM
by
Rachelle McCalla
When insurgents attack the king's motorcade, scattering the royal family, bodyguard Levi Granaldo has one goal—to protect the princess. Even though he knows Princess Isabelle distrusts him. On the run together, they flee to New York, to the shelter of a sanctuary established by Levi's father. But their safety can't last. After a surprise attack divides the pair, Isabelle is forced to face some hard truths. The danger she's in is getting deadlier by the day…and she'll never be able to face it without Levi by her side.
Excerpt of chapter one:
The royal motorcade lurched to an unexpected stop. Her Royal Highness Princess Isabelle of Lydia glanced at Levi Grenaldo, her recently appointed bodyguard, expecting him to make some reassuring gesture that would indicate nothing was amiss.
He didn't look her way. In the silvery sheen of his mirrored sunglasses, Isabelle saw only the rear bumper of her brother's limousine sitting still on the road in front of them. The seconds ticked by and they sat, unmoving, in the narrow streets of Sardis, Lydia's capital city.
Something had to be wrong. The motorcade represented the power and pageantry of the royal family and therefore never stopped until it arrived at its destination.
"Why are we stopped?"
Levi didn't acknowledge her question, but instead pressed the button for the intercom and told the driver, "Get us off this street."
When the driver hesitated, Levi pressed the button again. "Now."
Much as she wanted to remain calm, Isabelle felt her fingers tighten as they gripped the edge of the leather seat. She didn't like anything about this situation. For one thing, she didn't trust Levi.
He'd been abruptly appointed as her personal bodyguard five days earlier with no explanation given, and on top of that, he didn't fit the profile for a bodyguard. Although he was plenty tall and his shoulders were broad with muscles, he was otherwise trim, and the dark angles of his beard gave his face a scholarly look. Unlike all the bodyguards she'd ever had before, his neck wasn't thicker than his head, and he looked unusually sharp in the tuxedo he wore for the state dinner they were about to attend.
Besides that, the bodyguard read books. Intelligent ones. She'd seen him with his nose buried in political tomes whenever he waited for her to finish an appointment.
Out of place as those attributes seemed, what really bothered her was the way he overrode her requests and limited her freedom. As the eldest daughter of King Philip and Queen Elaine, Isabelle was used to having to change her plans to protect her safety, but Levi's impediments went far beyond the usual. They'd butted heads several times. After three days she'd asked to have him removed, but her father had refused her request.
All her instincts told her something was amiss.
The driver had the car two points into what promised to be an eighteen-point turn on the narrow street when suddenly a deafening blast rent the air, rattling the official limo, and an orange ball of fire seared the sky in front of them.
Levi's hand mashed the intercom button.
"Back! Back! Now!"
A second explosion rocked the air even closer behind them, and Isabelle felt the car shudder. Though the royal limousines were made of bulletproof materials, she doubted they'd be any match for that kind of explosion. Her heart twisted with concern for the rest of her family. Alexander, her only living brother, rode in the limousine ahead of her, which didn't appear to have been damaged by the blast, but her parents' car was out of sight ahead of those carrying other royal officials. It would have been close to where the first explosion hit.
And her sister, Anastasia, rode in a car somewhere behind hers. Black smoke filled the air. Isabelle couldn't see any sign of her sister's car.
Levi cracked the door open and looked down at the street, letting in a wave of heat and the stench of fire and explosives.
"Shut that!" Isabelle lunged past him to close the door, mindful that, inadequate as the car might seem against the fiery blasts, it was the only protection they had.
He pulled the door closed and would have met her eyes had his not been hidden behind his ever-present sunglasses. But his face was suddenly far closer than she was used to her bodyguards' faces being, even in the midst of pressing crowds and certainly not in the backseat of a car.
His hand hit the intercom again. "Back up three feet and a little to the left."
The driver obeyed promptly this time.
Even before the limousine had come to a stop, Levi had the door open again. He leaned out and wrestled with something on the ground.
For a second, Isabelle thought about shoving him out and locking the door after him. But much as she didn't like the man, she wouldn't stoop to such a move just to keep herself safe, though his actions seemed to endanger both of them, and it frightened her.
A moment later he pulled the door closed again and slid back, slipping one arm solidly around her waist.
Isabelle gave a yelp and tried to jump away.
The vise of his arms didn't allow her to budge. "Your Highness, I'm going to open the door and we're both going down the manhole."
"No!" She twisted her torso in an attempt to free herself.
Levi had her clamped against him so securely she couldn't move more than an inch in any direction. The touch of his hands and the tenacity of his grip sent memories scurrying out from the dark corners of her mind—memories she'd hoped to keep hidden forever.
She felt his neatly trimmed beard brush her temple as he spoke briskly into her ear. "Once I open the door we'll be vulnerable. We need to get below ground as quickly as possible. Don't fight me."
Isabelle took a shaky breath. To his credit, though he held her immobile, Levi wasn't squeezing her too hard for her to breathe. Maybe it was that small allowance that made her decide to trust him.
Or maybe it was because she didn't have any choice.
"The car is bulletproof," she reminded him in one last attempt to derail his plan. "We won't be safe if we leave it."
Another blast rocked the air, and the hood from another vehicle crashed against the limousine's windshield, the royal hood ornament visible for just a second as the dented metal scraped past them.
"We won't be safe if we stay here." Levi reached across the seat. "You can take your purse." He shoved the satin clutch into her hands. "Anything else you need?"
Isabelle tried to think, but her mind was filled with fears for the safety of the rest of her family. Judging by the proximity of the last blast, she was nearly certain it had been centered just ahead of Alexander's limo. That may have been the hood of his car that had fractured their windshield! She couldn't see anything through the black smoke, but she sent up a silent prayer and forced herself not to act on the instinct to leap from the safety of her vehicle to look for her brother. He was a grown man and a soldier. Surely he knew more than she did about staying alive.
"On three." Levi's words jerked her thoughts away from her brother and back to the crazy-sounding plan to leap through the manhole. "One, two—"
With no time to protest, Isabelle pinched her eyes shut as Levi opened the door and, in one swift movement, pulled her from the vehicle and shuttled her through the hole in the pavement. Much as she didn't trust him, she knew the danger outside was real, and she didn't want to be exposed to it any longer than was absolutely necessary. For that reason only, she cooperated with his actions.
She opened her eyes as the soles of her leather pumps slid against the slippery metal bars that formed a ladder secured to the wall of the tunnel. Although she couldn't get purchase on any of the rungs, Levi seemed to have a steady hold on both the ladder and her. She wished she'd chosen to wear something a bit more practical than a silk, floor-length evening gown, but the dress had been the perfect choice for the state dinner she was now about to miss.
Her trembling hands reached for the bars, and she managed to grip one securely.
"Hold on tight." Levi's instructions sounded close to her ear. "Got it?"
Unable to muster up words, she nodded. He surely couldn't see much in the darkness of the hole, but he must have felt her movement because he let go of her and reached above them to pull the manhole cover shut.
Metal grated against pavement and Levi's body rocked as he muscled the cover back into place above their heads.
Orange fire flashed above them and Isabelle felt its heat penetrate their hiding place.
Levi immediately let go of the manhole cover to shield her. As the simmering air stilled, he slid the manhole cover the last couple of inches closed, leaving them in total darkness. "Are you okay?"
Isabelle could feel herself trembling, but she forced her voice to speak. "Fine. You?"
"Fine," he echoed.
"You didn't scorch your hands, did you?"
"Not too bad."
Isabelle was aware that he hadn't denied being injured, but because he didn't complain, she didn't press the question. It wasn't as though she could do anything for him at the moment.
With the manhole cover blocking out all light, the darkness was damp and absolute, and Isabelle felt a wave of terror wash over her. Who was this man, and what were his intentions? What did the explosions above mean? And where were they? Her nose told her it wasn't the sewer.
"Can you climb down, Princess?" Levi's voice surprised her with its closeness.
Suddenly mindful of her position wrapped in the arms of a man she didn't trust, Isabelle resisted going any farther. Gripping the metal bar a little tighter, she ignored his prompt.
"What was that?"
"Ambush." He stated flatly. "Let's get moving."
Isabelle reached upward for the next higher rung. "My family is up there. My brother's car—"
"You're not going back up." Levi tugged her back down, closer against him.
The grip of his arms in the darkness brought more horrible memories rushing back. She fought him instinctively. "No! I don't know who you are or what you're doing—"
"Your father hired me to protect you." Levi's arms were too strong for her, and her position on the slippery metal rungs was a precarious one.
She tried to fight back. "The royal motorcade was ambushed and now you're trying to kidnap me. I demand to know why!"
Instead of responding, Levi wrenched her free of the rungs and climbed downward with her more or less slung across his shoulders. "We need to get moving. If the lid on this hole sustains a direct hit, you could be killed standing where you are."
"Where am I?" A shudder of fear chased through her, but Isabelle stopped fighting and relented to being carried down the dark hole. She felt the vibrations as another explosion rocked the earth in spite of the thick stone that surrounded them, so she didn't doubt Levi's warning was sincere.
"The Catacombs of Charlemagne."
Isabelle startled and nearly fell out of Levi's arms. He obviously hadn't expected her to jolt at his words.
"We're in the Catacombs of Charlemagne?"
"Yes."
"But they were filled in more than a thousand years ago." Her words, spoken in an awed whisper, echoed through the empty chamber.
"Your father had them excavated." Levi climbed downward, his movements slow and deliberate in the darkness.
"How do you know that, and I don't?" Isabelle couldn't fathom why her father hadn't told her. And how had Levi learned of them?
"I was just wondering the same thing." Levi's voice echoed louder, and Isabelle realized the chamber had widened with their descent. He continued. "Actually, your greatgrandfather King Alexander III began the excavation during the first World War, thinking the royal family might need the catacombs to escape if they were ever threatened on their own soil." His posture changed as he let go of the ladder, and Isabelle heard the scraping sound of his shoes against the floor of the tunnel. "Little did your great-grandfather know, he was right—just a century off."
Isabelle wished she could see his face, but the utter darkness hid everything. So much had happened so quickly, she wasn't sure she entirely understood what Levi was talking about. "The catacombs run beneath the city of Sardis." She recalled from history lessons. "Charlemagne built them in the ninth century when he used Lydia as an outpost in his attempt to further his kingdom and the spread of Christianity toward the east."
In a patient-sounding voice, Levi continued the story. "Lydia has always been a Christian nation, so they supported Charlemagne's efforts."
"Even though he was eventually thwarted." Isabelle wasn't sure how large a space they occupied, but from the way their voices carried, she judged it to be at least a few meters wide, with a ceiling well above their heads. Tentatively she stepped away from Levi, half expecting to feel cold stone against her back. She felt nothing. With a shiver, she took a step back toward him, unwilling to lose her only human contact in the vast darkness.
"Stay near me." He cautioned her abruptly. "We need to get moving."
Isabelle gulped a breath of the cool underground air. She had to think. Too much about this situation wasn't right, and just because the man knew about the catacombs, that didn't mean she ought to trust him. After all, there was surely little coincidence between the timing of his appointment and the attack on the royal motorcade. For all she knew he was in on the ambush and had brought her into the tunnel to finish her off or hand her over to a political enemy.
But how could she sort out what to do when she couldn't even see?
Levi tugged on her arm.
"Hold on." Isabelle pulled her cell phone from her purse and flicked it open, illuminating the screen, its miniscule light startling in the utter darkness of the tunnel, casting their faces and the rock walls around them in an eerie greenish glow.
"Thank you. That helps." Levi offered her a slight smile.
To Isabelle, his angled lips looked sinister in the flickering light. "You should take your sunglasses off."
As she watched his face, his jaw tightened under his close-cropped beard. He seemed reluctant to remove the mirrored shades, which, together with the facial hair, hid his face almost completely. At his hesitation, Isabelle realized she'd never seen him without the sunglasses on, not even indoors. For a moment, she wondered why.
Then he slowly peeled back the lenses and she knew the answer.
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