Dani Collins's Blog, page 36
January 20, 2017
#SampleSunday - Only In His Sweetest Dreams
RELEASES Feb 1!
This handyman can fix anything, except her broken family.
Only In His Sweetest Dreams
Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay
For a bunch of reasons--mostly my own beleaguered organizational skills--this duet releases two weeks apart. The first book, Not In Her Wildest Dreams, releases Jan 15th and this one is Feb 1.
In fact, the first half of 2017 is one release after another for me. This falls under the heading of 'Nice problems to have.'
Mostly I'm just super thrilled to have these two books finally running free in the wild. I wrote them over ten years ago and I've always loved the characters. I hope you do, too!
~ * ~
Back Cover Copy
When Mercedes Kimball’s sister abandons her children, Mercedes takes in her confused niece and nephew, jeopardizing the job she loves at a retirement community. The sexy new handyman’s bedroom eyes promise to fix anything, but he can’t fix this.
L.C. Fogarty is trash, not Father Of The Year, but he’s happy to be Mercedes’s sounding board. Given their white-hot attraction, he’d love to see what they could do to a headboard, but he’s keeping a secret she won’t forgive. Confessing means facing untold heartache and going back to where he never belonged. He’d rather stay with Mercedes and her misfit family.
She might not get to keep that family, though. Which means she’s going to need him.
SampleSunday
Chapter One
Her phone vibrated as Mercedes Kimball had finally settled her niece and nephew and was turning in herself. Reaching from her sister’s futon to the coffee table, she muttered, “That had better be you, Porsha.”
She knew it wouldn’t be. Porsha would text, not wanting to risk an actual conversation. And texting would be a miracle at this point.
When Mercedes saw the call display read Coconino Vista, she hurried to accept the call. “Hello?”
“Mercedes?” an aged, female voice asked. “Boys have broken into the empty Fairmont unit. The police are here. I know you asked Harrison for another week, but we need you back immediately.”
“Mrs. Garvey,” Mercedes breathed in recognition and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to snap her overloaded brain into work mode. The Fairmont unit. Vandals.
“Is everyone all right?” She thought of heart conditions and little dogs barking an alarm. Brittle-boned legs stumbling down dark hallways to investigate.
Mrs. Garvey didn’t answer. She was speaking to someone, saying, “I have Mercedes on the phone now.”
Ayjia came to the end of the hallway, rubbing her eyes. Porsha’s nightgown slid off her bony shoulder and the hem puddled around her feet. “Is it Mommy?”
“No, sweetie.”
“Pardon?” Mrs. Garvey asked, coming back.
“I’m just speaking to my niece,” Mercedes said. “The phone woke her.”
The fact that the five-year-old had been so on guard for voices that she’d come out right away told Mercedes how distressed Ayjia was at her mother’s prolonged absence.
“The sirens have awakened the entire community,” Mrs. Garvey said stiffly. “The boys were caught, thank heavens, but they had matches. They could have burned us to the ground.”
“There was a fire?” Mercedes sat up and flattened a hand over her T-shirt, trying to contain the leap of her heart.
“Where?” Ayjia’s eyes widened.
“At my work.” Mercedes forced a calm tone. She didn’t have the luxury of freaking out right now. Waving Ayjia to come sit beside her, she asked Mrs. Garvey, “Is the fire still burning? Where are you?”
“The police caught them in time.”
“So there’s no fire?” She should have known Mrs. Garvey was exaggerating. She was an alarmist, always thinking the worst.
Mercedes hugged Ayjia anyway, needing the comfort of her warm, wiry body. If anything had happened to anyone—
“So everyone is okay? Is the complex damaged? The unit?”
“The unit needs repair, as does the back fence. That fence should have been rebuilt long ago.”
Mercedes bit back a huff. She’d been trying to get the budget for the fence repairs past the board for months. “I’ll see to it the minute I get back.”
“Later tomorrow is fine,” Mrs. Garvey said. “It needn’t be your first priority. Other matters will require immediate attention.”
“Right. Um...” Mercedes glanced at the girl snuggling into her side, the weight of her head leaning against the side of her breast. “But as I told Harrison, the kids have school this week.”
Mrs. Garvey’s silence held such thick censure, Mercedes cringed.
“You were supposed to be back last week,” Mrs. Garvey said in her schoolmarm scold. “You should be the one speaking with the police right now.”
“Porsha assured me she was on her way.” But that had been Thursday and here it was Sunday. What were vandals doing out on a school night? At least on a Friday she could have packed up the kids and gone straight back to Flagstaff.
“You’ve used all of your holiday time, Mercedes,” Mrs. Garvey reminded.
“I know. I’m taking this week without pay.” Mercedes held her breath, hoping that would appease Edith Tightfist Garvey.
“But you’ve used all your time. This isn’t another situation like Christmas, is it?”
“Of course not.” Porsha wouldn’t do that to her. Mercedes cuddled her niece closer so Ayjia relaxed and her eyes drifted shut. Porsha wouldn’t do that to her kids. She wouldn’t dare. Mercedes had made it clear that once was too much, especially on top of all those weekend disappearances.
In her ear, Mrs. Garvey spoke to someone else again, her thin voice muffled. Mercedes imagined the senior pressing the receiver to whatever sweater set she’d chosen for a consultation with the police. Never mind the record temperatures Arizona was setting this March, or that potential arsonists had pulled her from her bed at half past nine. She would still be dressed in a light wool skirt, nylons, and orthopedic shoes.
A male voice roughened by a lifetime of whiskey and cigarettes came on the line. “Mercy?”
Oh, no. Was the entire Administrative Board standing there? Some of these people she just couldn’t say no to.
“Hi, Harrison.” She sounded like a sheepish teenager who’d missed curfew. She cleared her throat. “Sounds like a bit of a circus there.”
“Three rings, my girl. Wish you were here.”
Code for Get your ass back home. Ouch.
“Wednesday?” she pleaded. Surely she’d be able to track down her sister by then. If she couldn’t, she was calling child welfare. This time she really meant it.
No, she didn’t, she decided just as fast, cradling a protective hand over Ayjia’s fine hair. After a really scary bout in foster care herself, she’d sworn her niece and nephew wouldn’t experience anything like it. But she dreamed of threatening her sister with it. Porsha needed to wake up.
Harrison filled her ear with a deeply pained sigh. “That the best you can do?”
In the background, she heard Mrs. Garvey working herself into a lather. “She needs to be here now.”
Mercedes winced. “It’s that bad?”
“It’s not that it’s so bad, Mercy-girl. It’s that we’re so damned old. The coppers want us to inspect the damage, but I left my glasses back on the counter and really can’t be bothered walking all that way to pick them up. Pete ought to bring his notes from that inspection we did last fall, but he took one of his nappy pills. Shirley is barely getting a pulse out of him. Mrs. Yamamoto says the little shits seem like nice boys and ought to be given a second chance, but Edith wants ‘em castrated and stewed in oil. We could use your steadying presence.”
Guilt and concern weighed heavier. “I could drive down after school tomorrow.”
More silence, the ominous, disapproving kind.
“Harrison, they’re children.” Mercedes begged for understanding. The seniors were adults. She knew who couldn’t survive without her.
On the other hand, she couldn’t exactly buy groceries for herself or her sister’s children if she didn’t have a job. She would need her life at Coconino Vista when Porsha finally decided to be a mother again. That was home and those people were like family. She hated letting them down.
“I’ll be there by late afternoon, I swear.” She wouldn’t even try to imagine how she would get the kids back for school on Tuesday.
“Can’t your mother take them?” he asked.
“I pick them up from Mom when Porsha leaves them there because—”
Like mother, like daughter, she’d been about to say, but cut herself off as six-year-old Dayton showed up from the hall, his hair sticking up, his cheek wearing the print of his dinosaur pillow.
“Is that Mom?”
“No, hon. It’s my work.”
“What do they want?”
“Mercedes?” Harrison asked. “The police want to talk to us again, but listen. We need you here.”
“I know.” And she wasn’t Porsha, she wasn’t. “I’ll come back tomorrow,” she promised, silently adding, Please don’t fire me.
~ * ~
L.C. Fogarty had just fallen asleep in the hard, college dorm bed when his cell phone hummed.
He was too old for midnight calls. It had to be a wrong number. Or his son. Might be his sister. Their father had been doing all right since his latest heart attack two years ago, but still smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish.
Reaching for the phone, he opened one eye to see the lack of photo and his ex-wife’s initials. A cement-like weight hit his gut, heavy and sloshing with foreboding.
“What’s up?”
“It’s me,” Britta said. “Your son was arrested tonight.”
Not dead. He let out a breath and sat up, light-headed with relief. “Finally showing some Fogarty colors. Good for him.”
Silence.
He pushed his fingertip and thumb into his eyes, pinching the sleep out of them. Waiting out her annoyance. Waiting for the inevitable—
“So you don’t care.”
He ignored that. “What happened? Party? Oh, hell, he wasn’t protesting, was he?” That he could believe.
“Attempted arson. In a senior’s complex.” Her tone was sharp with can-you-believe-this-shit.
“They’ve got the wrong kid,” he said, even as he pictured his family home leveled by fire two years ago. But blame had been assigned. Zack had nothing to do with it.
“Of course they’ve got the wrong kid!” Brit sounded like she was red-lining.
“Hey. Come in off the ledge. He’s fine.” He wasn’t dead.
“He’s not fine! God, you never take anything seriously.”
He quit reaching for his jeans in the dark, begged the ceiling for patience, and reached for the pencil and notebook on the table instead. “Tell me where he’s being held. I’ll make some calls. You can go back to bed.”
“That’d be great, but we’re teething and out of gel, so there’s no point, is there?”
Don’t go there, he thought, but it came out anyway. “My fault too?”
Silence.
How was it they could be pushing forty, be divorced longer than they had been married, yet continued to needle each other like they were still in high school?
She must have thought the same thing. Her tone lowered to something more civil.
“He was released a while ago. He’s probably back at the dorm by now.”
“So he’s not in jail.” That was good news, but L.C.’s tension shifted to resentment. “Your cop husband spring him?”
“My lawyer father did.” It was still vintage Britta, cleaning up the mess then blasting him for not doing it himself.
If he’d been paying attention, he would have known Zack was fine from the moment he answered. She only got snotty and unbearable once a crisis had passed. Recognizing that didn’t lighten him up any.
“So you’re just calling to inform me. Zack doesn’t need anything.”
“Well, I thought you should go make sure he’s all right.”
“Did he sound all right?”
“I don’t know! Dad talked to him.”
“Zack didn’t call you?” That surprised him, but it explained why Brit was so testy. L.C. smirked. Welcome to being a redundant parent, sweetheart. He’d had to get used to it, but it was nice to know it irritated the hell out of her, too.
“Dad said Zack made a good case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the college is still liable to make him an example. I think you should go make sure they don’t expel him or anything.”
“I should do that.” Last he’d heard, his parenting efforts weren’t necessary. When had he become a valued part of the team?
“Well, I have my hands full, don’t I? And you’re not doing anything. Paige said you’re not working.”
Ah. Of course she had called his sister first. It didn’t surprise him, but aggravated him all the same. “Paige doesn’t know what I’m doing.” No one did. It was too close to the bone.
“So you won’t go and help your son.”
“I didn’t say that.”
She wasn’t listening. She was talking to someone in the room with her.
“He doesn’t even care that his son was arrested and could be expelled.” She came back on the line, strident and full of the self-righteousness that made her great in the practice of family law, but a bitch of an ex-wife. “Is partying really more important than your child?”
“I’m not at a party.” He spoke through tight lips, thinking of the one-week high-school equivalency boot camp he was starting tomorrow. He would dump it in a heartbeat if Zack asked, but after this attack, he’d be damned if he’d do it for her. “I’m also not in Arizona. Zack’s eighteen. If he wants me, he knows how to reach me, but it sounds like he’s got things under control. Got himself out of jail, didn’t he? It took me a few tries to get good at it.”
“Are you in jail now? Is that why you won’t go?”
“Jesus, Brit. If Zack asks for me, I’ll go.”
“He shouldn’t have to ask. I’m asking on his behalf and I shouldn’t have to— Now she’s up again!” She made a noise of sheer frustration while a baby cried in the background. “Do whatever the hell you want. You will anyway.” She hung up.
“Kisses for baby,” L.C. muttered as he stabbed to end the call and dropped the phone on the blanket beside him. His chest hurt and it wasn’t just his son’s arrest causing it. Those healthy cries from the baby held his lungs in a vice for a long few breaths until he pulled himself back from helpless terror and futile anger to bleak acceptance.
Is partying more important than your child?
He stared into the darkness, focusing on Zack so he wouldn’t think about heading to the nearest bar and ordering a drink.
Surely Zack knew all he had to do was ask. Maybe they hadn’t spent a lot of time together in the last couple of years, but they texted all the time. And okay, maybe it wasn’t right to make Zack ask him for help, but what was he supposed to do? Take for granted he was needed? His own father had never shown up for anything unless subpoenaed. That’s how L.C. had learned not to rely on anyone.
He rubbed his face again. Swore. Reached for his jeans and stood to tug them on.
~ * ~
Want to know what happens next? Get your copy of Only In His Sweetest Dreams on all digital platforms:
Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay
Be sure to look for Book One in The Dreams Duet, Not In Her Wildest Dreams, about L.C.'s sister Paige and her first love, Sterling.
Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay
Want to be the first to know about my upcoming books? Join my newsletter! You'll auto-magically receive a link to download Cruel Summer, a short ebook romance I wrote exclusively for my subscribers.
January 15, 2017
New Release! Not In Her Wildest Dreams
Rejected and ruined by Liebe Falls’ golden boy, Paige hoped to never see Sterling again, but fifteen years later, she’s forced to work with him. Could it be a second chance? Not in her wildest dreams.
Get your copy of this sexy, funny, heartfelt romance today.
Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus
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Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay
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Look for Book Two, Only In His Sweetest Dreams, where Paige's brother, L.C., finds his HEA ~ Releases Feb 1st
Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay
January 13, 2017
Bites Of Books - Not In Her Wildest Dreams
When I completed and submitted my thirtieth book, I decided to celebrate by offering a taste from each one. This one is coming out Jan 15th!
Sterling made a fool of himself over Paige once. Never again. He only returns to Liebe Falls to ensure Paige doesn’t pull a fast one when she audits his father's company. Their chemistry blazes hotter than ever, making him wonder if he misjudged her, but secrets come to light, including an embezzler she tries to protect, proving she’s still the wrong girl. So why does holding onto her feel so right?
Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay
I'm releasing this bite before the actual book comes out. You can also read the first chapters here:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
In this scene, they've gone to the Liebe Falls Business Association meeting, representing the factory. It's like the Chamber of Commerce for their town. Paige has already suffered a break in at her house and office. And she's just had a set-down from Sterling's mother. She's had it, and she's leaving.
~ * ~
“I saw you come out of the ladies room. Was my mother in there?”
“You know us girls. Always gotta have a friend in there.” She fought to keep her voice from breaking and swiped once more with her pinky. There. All better.
“Gonna tell me what she said to make you leave?”
“It’s not about that.” Not really.
“But she said something. You’re right. I’ve been an ass, using you to get at her, but darlin’, you can’t keep letting her put you on the run.”
“Look, I’m not sniveling over your mother treating me like one more good-for-nothing Fogarty again. I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that this town is toxic to me. I don’t want to play Fearless Leader of the Factory. I thought I could, but I can’t.”
He didn’t say anything.
She sighed, her breath clouding in front of her. It was so damp out here, the chill went right into her bones.
“Fearless Leader of the Factory?” he repeated.
“Oh, shut up.” She turned her face away, saw the humor and felt a smile start.
He took off his jacket and held it for her. “Come back a little longer. I bought you a glass of wine. That should take the edge off.”
“It might if I drank. Didn’t I ask for a soda with lime?”
“Oh. Yeah, I think you did. I forgot. Here, are you going to take this?”
It would mean she was staying, giving this party another go. It would mean she was willing to face his mother again. She didn’t want to, but she was cold enough to turn and reach into the jacket anyway. Her bare arms prickled with goose bumps as the lining slid across her skin.
The smell of aftershave and the lingering heat of Sterling’s body enveloped her. She hugged the weight of his jacket in an effort to gather more of his impervious strength closer to herself.
His hands lingered on her shoulders, gently inviting her to turn.
He wanted to kiss her.
She wanted him to kiss her.
She started to turn— “Oooh!” She gritted her teeth as she caught sight of the mess inside the car.
“What?” Sterling leaned down and let out a cloud of aggravated breath when he saw the contents of the glove box all over the floor. The papers from the box of folders were splayed out on the seats.
She ought to be scared, she distantly thought, but she was just furious. “What are they looking for?” she demanded.
“Didn’t you lock it?”
“This is the good side of town, isn’t it?” She waved her arm at the club. “And this box of papers isn’t likely to hold anything valuable enough to pawn. Who did this? Someone here? Do I go in and start accusing people?”
Sterling shook his head, sighing. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
They stared at the mess a moment longer.
“I want to go home,” she decided.
“You can’t. Not alone. Whoever did this thinks you’re here, not at the house. They could be breaking in again. Lyle still out?”
“I don’t know. I should call Cam, shouldn’t I?” She let her head drop into her hand. “I’m not up to it, Sterling. I’m really not.”
He surveyed the mess, nodded decisively. “All right, let’s go.”
He crowded her until she slipped into the car. Before she could sort any papers, he came in behind her, forcing her to push everything toward the passenger door.
“There’s no room,” she protested.
“Good. I don’t want you to go too far.”
“Believe it or not, I’m not in the mood for a pass.”
“Who’s making a pass? I’m cold. Where’re the keys?”
She pulled them out of her purse, then began filling the box with the shuffled files.
“Quit fiddling with those papers.”
“There’s no seat belt in the middle.”
“I’ll drive careful.” He did, while she sat right up against him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, warmed by more than body heat. Pretending the contact was defense against hypothermia when it was plain ol’ desire to be close to him.
He smelled incredible.
When he pulled into her driveway, he cut the engine, cut the lights, and sat unmoving. History closed in around them as the droning blow of the heater died off and the motor silenced to cooling pings.
She licked her lips. “You have to get out so I don’t knock all this onto the driveway.”
“Yeah.” He still didn’t move. Very slowly, he turned his head to look at her.
She became very aware of the weight of his jacket, the angles of his face, the patter of light rain making this small, dark space that much more intimate.
“I think we have to give it a try, Paige.”
“An affair?” Her insides quaked at the thought.
The corners of his lips quirked. “I was fishing for a kiss, but okay.”
“Oh, God.” She ducked her head into her hands.
His arms came around her, squishing her bent arms and hot face against his chest while his palm cradled the back of her head and chuckles of enjoyment shook through him.
“I can’t believe I said that. Let me out.” She pushed at his chest.
He pressed his lips to her temple, still laughing, trying to gather her hair back and find her face. “Come on, Paige. Be a sport.”
She emerged from her hands enough to look around, then let her gaze come back to settle on his face. He was amused, but in an affectionate way. He scared the hell out of her.
“What’d ya say?” he asked softly. “Should we see?” His thumb caressed the corner of her jaw.
Bad idea, Paige. Don’t do it.
“Maybe,” she said on a near-whisper, and felt wicked. Grew excited.
He smiled and his breath left him in a humid cloud against her mouth before he lowered his head, taking his time as he brushed her lips with his, hesitating one more long second.
She opened a little, pressed a fraction against his mouth, let him know she was planning to participate.
Their lips melded into a real kiss, but it was still only a cautious exploration. How far do you want to take this, he seemed to ask. A little further, she responded, letting her tongue strike against the inside of his lip and retreat.
He did the same, wasn’t so cautious, tasting her in a leisurely way that dampened both their lips and made her sink into him. His arm tightened around her, drew her closer as he deepened the kiss.
She slid her arms around his neck, pressing her torso to his. His other hand snaked beneath his jacket and roamed, learning the shape of her lower spine and hips as she arched to feel more of him against her.
And they began to devour each other.
It was just like last time: bonfire.
Secretly she’d been terrified the sparks and awareness had all been fueled by history and nostalgia, but Sterling would die before he’d disappoint, which was terrifying in its own way.
Longing rose, a yearning to pleasure and claim and offer herself to him, to hands that weren’t fast, but had a way of moving that suggested greed. Hunger. Urgency.
She felt the same, like this might be her only chance so she had to discover everything she could: the pulse in his hot throat against her open mouth, the flex of muscles in his chest, the ridges of his shoulder blades. His taste, oh God, his taste. They were going to incinerate each other right here, kissing like this, feverish and desperate, no longer experimenting, working on a prelude to more, and she was right there with him. Yes. More, more.
With a lusty groan, he twisted to get a better vantage, hit his elbow on the steering wheel, and knocked out a short honk from the horn.
Panting, they jerked apart.
“Smoke alarm,” she said through lips that felt swollen.
“There’s a horny joke there too, but I’m too blown away to find it.”
“That was bad.” She edged back so they weren’t touching, trying to catch her breath.
“You wish. Our lives would be a lot simpler if that had been lousy.”
She pressed her hand to her lips, holding the tingling pleasure in them.
He stretched out his legs, lifted his hips off the seat while he made himself more comfortable. “Again with the driveway. If I ever get you somewhere private— You want to come over?”
She did, but she shook her head, trying to keep a grasp on something like sense.
He swore and opened the door, climbed out and took a big breath of the cold, wet air. Leaning on the rooftop, he said, “It looks like Lyle’s here, but you come straight out if things don’t feel right, ‘kay?”
She slid across, struggling to keep her skirt from scraping up her thighs as she wiggled past the steering wheel. Standing beside him, she waved at the strewn papers. “I guess I’ll deal with this in the morning.”
He locked the door, handed her the keys. “Good night.”
The bulb over the front door was on, casting a reflection of light in the puddle at their feet.
“Are you angry?” she asked him.
“No.” His chuckle was dry. “Frustrated. Come home with me.”
She swallowed. “It’s not a good idea.” She handed back his jacket.
He didn’t answer as he took it.
~ * ~
Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay
Also look for Book Two, Only In His Sweetest Dreams, where Paige's brother reinvents himself as L.C. and finds his HEA...
Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay
Want to be the first to see an excerpt of an upcoming book? Join my newsletter! You'll auto-magically receive a link to download Cruel Summer, a short ebook romance I wrote exclusively for my subscribers.
January 8, 2017
Bites Of Books - The Healer
When I completed and submitted my thirtieth book, I decided to celebrate by offering a taste from each one. Enjoy!
The Healer was under submission at Champagne Books when I sold to Harlequin Presents. It went to contract with Champagne and was published in 2013, but I've never written another medieval fantasy so building my readership there was very stilted.
A few months ago, I asked them for my rights back and now I've published The Healer on Kindle Unlimited. You can still buy it through Amazon if you're not a member. Here are the quick links:
And here is your updated blurb.
While patrolling the border lands, Vaun rescues a Kerf captive only to discover she’s Alvian—a mistake that starts the war he was charged with preventing.
Leader of the mysterious healers feared by Kerfs, Athadia knows by Vaun’s touch that he’s Latent, a half-blood and a possible mate. Lying with the warrior Kerf could fulfill her vows and save her dwindling race, but she’s needed by her own people and tries to escape.
Stealing Athadia to Kerfdom is pure survival, but once there, Vaun’s brother, the King, expects him to kill her. It’s the only way to appease the oppressive Shotes threatening their country. As Vaun fights for her life, loyalties are tested and enemies revealed, forcing him to face what he is and decide whether one life is worth thousands.
In this excerpt, Vaun has promised Athadia safe passage through the badlands if she heals his foot soldiers as they travel. They just slept together and she healed both of them while they slept, but he doesn't know yet that he's a half-blood.
~ * ~
Vaun woke to an unpleasant peeling sensation on his front, as if his skin was pulling away with the removal of a bandage adhered to a wound. He opened his eyes to find Athadia trying to ease herself from his embrace and reflexively tightened his hold.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m thirsty.”
He glanced at the slumbering men, the dead fire, the fading stars. They’d only slept a few hours, but he felt ready to march for hours. He was thirsty too, though.
Relaxing his hold, Vaun winced at the chill as Athadia moved away. Odd. The cold didn’t usually bother him, certainly not to the point where he would consider dragging a woman back into his arms when he had men’s lives on the line.
Motioning her to wait, he shook Chador awake. “Ready the men. I want to move.”
Chador sat up while Vaun followed Athadia to the stream below the slope of the bank that edged the camp. They cracked ice that curled in jagged teeth over boulders and drank deeply. Then Athadia harvested algae, letting it hang in black strings from her fingers as she offered it.
“To eat?” he asked, askance. “No.”
“It tastes better stewed, but it’s nourishing.” she said, eating it herself.
Since she hadn’t touched the Shote food, he waited patiently while she ate her fill, watching her gather small pebbles and arrange them into a marker while she did.
“For your people?” he asked, debating the danger of Alvians tracking them versus Athadia’s need to rejoin her people. “Do you have a family to return to? A husband?”
“Family, yes.” In the climbing light he thought he saw sorrow flicker over her face. Stark doubt was disciplined into a mask of determination to hope before she looked up with inquiry.
“Husband? That means life-mate?” She shook her head then asked with interest, “You?”
“No,” he said, relieved there’d been no transgression last night, holding another man’s wife. “I have sons, but my wife is gone.”
As she nodded thoughtfully and turned to wash her hands and face, he told himself he had simply wanted to ensure she didn’t escape last night and offer reassurance she was in no danger from the other men. But the men wouldn’t touch her and he could have tied her up to keep her from running. No, his motive for holding her hadn’t been so innocent. He wanted her, this unusual woman. The desire to steal a kiss now, without his men nearby to witness it, engulfed him.
But he only had to recollect the dread in her eyes when she had thought he’d make her whore for their entire party and he found the will to restrain himself. Besides, they were merely fellow travelers. She had people to return to. Parents, it sounded like, who deserved to know she lived.
Nevertheless, as she led him back to camp, he hung back and kicked over her marker. He’d already lost men. The challenge of this march motivated him to keep her as long as possible.
Back in camp, however, that fool Gunar questioned her use even as he sat with his boot off, his sole gray and pocked with running blisters. Obviously he had dodged Vaun’s order last night for all the men to present for healing as necessary.
He looked at Athadia and jerked his head toward Gunar.
“No,” Gunar said with a stubborn scowl in her direction.
Athadia held up splayed hands, saying in Shote, “I can’t help him if he refuses.”
Vaun set his hands on his hips, regarding Gunar. “You refuse my orders?”
It was a transgression grave enough for the rest of the men to slow their movements, quieting so they could hear without appearing to.
“I refuse to be disloyal to my Ducetta. Isolda would not approve of my consorting with the instrument of her brother’s death.” He aimed a filthy look at Athadia.
Anger and culpability were twisting Gunar’s view of the situation. Vaun saw it and knew this ripple was only the first of the swamping waves of repercussions that would eventually roll from this folly of a march. However, he had a party of men to hold together and bring home safely. He wouldn’t let Gunar jeopardize that.
“You won’t survive if you don’t accept healing and I assure you, if you die from refusing the orders of a Kerf general, your loyalty will forever remain in question.”
Gunar snorted, and his mouth twisted in a sneer behind his stubbled beard. “My dying would work in your favor, wouldn’t it, General? Then your actions wouldn’t be questioned at all.” He cast a contemptuous look around the group of northerners, plainly dismissing them as Vaun’s co-conspirators.
The men shifted, glancing between Gunar and Vaun, no longer pretending they weren’t listening, anxious to see how he would react to Gunar’s insults.
“I shall answer to my king for my actions,” Vaun said. “Whether I also answer for using my sword to silence a seditionist is up to you.”
~ * ~
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January 7, 2017
#SampleSunday - Not In Her Wildest Dreams (2)
RELEASES Jan 15th!
Sterling was Liebe Falls' Golden Boy until he messed around with the Wrong Girl. Rejected and ruined, Paige had to leave town, too. Now they're forced home and have to work together. Never mind a second chance, do they have any chance?
Not In Her Wildest Dreams
Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay
Fun Fact: I originally wrote this book as a murder mystery--which isn't very romantic, so I rewrote it as an embezzlement scandal.
I had all the pre-orders loaded and ready in November. I sent out a few arcs and a deeply appreciated reader who had an advance copy emailed yesterday. She said a line of dialogue in chapter twenty-nine didn't make sense. "When did her dad die?"
Oops!
I spent yesterday updating all the files.
SampleSunday
This is Chapter Two in Not In Her Wildest Dreams. You can read Chapter One in last week's post.
Enjoy!
Rosie, as Paige called her, was still out cold when Sterling pulled up behind Paige’s silver Mazda outside the house where she’d grown up.
He took in the most salient fact, that her brother’s truck was not here, and moved to carry the unconscious woman into the house. She was leggy but tall and gave him the workout he had feared he would miss because he was traveling.
He was breaking a sweat by the time he was walking down the hall. “Which room?”
“Mine. On the left. We had to throw out Dad’s mattress and the new one isn’t here yet. This is where I put her an hour ago.” The bed was already mussed.
Paige came in behind him and quickly pushed the edge of the nubby yellow bedspread further out of the way.
Sterling didn’t ask why the other mattress was ruined. Stuff happened during medical distress that was best not dwelt upon. He had heard through his parents about Grady’s latest heart attack and knew a woman had been in bed with him when it had happened. Not sleeping.
No wonder the woman in question was drinking herself into a blackout.
As Sterling settled Rosie, Paige said, “I can handle it from here,” and began removing Rosie’s shoes.
He was sure she could, but now that they were alone, he would steal a word.
He straightened away from Rosie’s musky perfume and gin breath. Then, because he’d spent his adolescence longing to penetrate these walls, among other things, took in Paige’s bare yellow room.
It didn’t look like he had always imagined it. No stuffed animals or rock posters, no lacy bras and flowery undies dangling from drawer pulls. The closet doors were cheap, hollow panels with chipped paint, the blue curtains were discolored to pale green at the edges. The gold carpet was worn thin in front of the dresser.
Nothing suggested a girl had grown up here—except that crooked heart carved into the footboard of the Canopied Princess Twin. Little vandal. In his house, defacing a Roy Collectible had been a hanging offense. He tried and failed to make out the initials gouged away beneath Paige’s.
Paige covered Rosie and started texting someone. Her husband maybe.
A gust of rain hit the window, drawing his glance to it and through to his grandmother’s old house in the yard that backed onto this one. At one time, a picket fence had separated the two yards, but it had disintegrated into a line of pick-up-sticks that was now just another contributor to the greater eyesore. The tiny bungalow was pushing seventy years old and showing it. The plugged gutters had caused water stains down the siding and the lawn hadn’t been mowed this year. The house looked worse than this one, which was saying something.
“I said you can go,” Paige prodded, unzipping the hoodie she wore and shrugging out of it.
“I heard you.” He reluctantly gave Paige his attention. He’d been putting off looking at her because, well, he might not stop. She was fifteen years older but still sleek as a mink in yoga pants and a clingy, long sleeved black shirt under a fitted purple T. It was a practical outfit on an intensely female woman who possessed thick lashes, elegant cheekbones, and a carnality-inspiring mouth. He didn’t like the bruise coming up under her pale cheek, or the fatigued slant to her shoulders though. It made her look like she needed someone to worry about her.
“I need to talk to you about something. You should ice that.”
She winced and touched her cheek. “Yeah, it hurts.” She moved to the dresser and tucked her straight, chin length hair behind her ear as she leaned into the mirror.
He had wondered, all the way from the Carolinas, what had made him lust from afar all those years ago, then make such a fool of himself. Whatever it was, he had convinced himself it wouldn’t happen again, but as he watched her bend just enough to push her round ass out, accenting her supple thighs and the shallow dip of her lower back, he felt a kick of desire right in his groin. It was a purely physical, animalistic want that emptied his mind so all he could think about was petting that ruthlessly feminine line.
She straightened abruptly, turning with a look that said, Hey pervert. Eyes up here.
Mirror. Shit. She’d seen where he’d been looking. The back of his neck grew hot and her bruised cheek grew darker.
“What do you want to talk about?” She slanted a dour look as she passed him on the way to the door.
Good work, Roy. He ran his hand over his rain damp hair, then dried it on his thigh as he followed her down the hall to the kitchen.
The house was one of those raised bungalow floor plans that had been all the rage about forty years ago, with two bedrooms and the rest of the living space upstairs and a full basement that savvy owners, over the years, had turned into rental suites.
She dug a resealable bag from a drawer and opened the freezer side of the refrigerator, filling the bag with ice. As she wrapped the bag in a tea towel, she prompted him with a look to answer her question.
“Dad was leaving some paperwork with Grady.” He pushed his fists into his pants pockets, feeling overdressed, which was strange for him. Power suits were always a comfortable uniform for him.
But there were so many shadows of suspicion in the one eye Paige showed him, as she covered her cheek and leaned on the counter to face him, he felt at a disadvantage.
A very unusual sensation for him.
“This is his third heart attack,” he pressed on. “Each time the factory gets by without him while he recovers, so... Dad’s thinking it’s time to—”
“Force him into retirement. So you can take over at the factory. I wondered why you were here.”
“Why can I never visit my parents without everyone thinking I want to take over Roy Furnishings?” He covered his annoyance at that recurring accusation with a smile of patient boredom. “No. I have my own company, including a contract that starts Monday in Texas. Consulting,” he added when she quizzed him with a lift of her shaped brow. “Operations management. I help businesses in trouble turn themselves around.”
He was surprised she didn’t know that.
“So your father wants to run the factory by himself? Alone?”
“He did it before Grady bought in. He can do it again.” Will, Sterling assured himself. He was here to make sure of it.
Paige’s mouth pursed in thought. “Your father always regretted letting Dad buy in, didn’t he?”
He’d loathed it, loathed her father, but Sterling doubted saying so would encourage her to sell. He spun it. “Grady is a helluva salesman. Dad gives him credit for that, but Dad realized as time went on that he likes autonomy. It would mean a lot to him to own it outright again.”
She nodded, mouth still pouted like she was waiting for a kiss, but her gaze was stuck in the middle distance. She was only half here, which annoyed him. He wanted her full attention.
Really wanted it.
Focus. Shit. She was married. And he had an axe to grind with her. He gave his head a shake.
“Listen. I came home to see you, to make sure what happened between us won’t affect Dad’s buyout of Grady’s share.”
“Really?” She lowered the ice pack.
He shrugged. “It’s time to forgive and forget, don’t you think?”
Her surprise became something softer. An optimistic wonder that was so damned pretty it made his animosity slippery and hard to hold onto. It put him in danger of Doing It Again. Letting her get to him.
“You came all this way, after all this time, to apologize?”
He hesitated. “I, uh, think we should let bygones be bygones, yeah.”
Her brows came together, and her eyes narrowed. “Are you apologizing or not?”
He was willing to do almost anything to facilitate that buy-back, but.... He opened his palms, laughed a bit. “Come on, Paige. I was the one who was beaten and banished. But, hey, no hard feelings.”
“Oh, my God. You came here to forgive me, didn’t you?” She choked out a noise and pushed the ice pack back against her face. “You’re something else.”
He opened his suit coat, growing hot. Prickly. The old reel of frustration and anger and contempt played through him. That weird, stunned shock that not only didn’t she like him, she had actually gone out of her way to hurt him. Everyone loved him. He hadn’t done anything to deserve being set up, but she and her brother had taken pains to sick Grady on him and it still infuriated him.
He held onto his temper and firm, calm tone as he said, “Whatever problem you had with me fifteen years ago, I wanted to make sure we got past it, so it wouldn’t affect Dad now.”
“Oh, please. I got past it,” she said, moving into the dining area to push in a chair. “I got past being broke after you labeled me a slut and made it impossible for me to get a job in this town. I got past years of people talking behind their hands every time I came back here. I’m even prepared to get past you coming into this house with me today, no doubt stirring up all of that stupid talk again with every neighbor peeking past her curtain. It’s people like your father, making remarks in the frigging hospital, where everyone can hear it, who aren’t getting over things. If you think one of us is going to cause a problem in the buy-back, I suggest you start with him. In fact, you should go do that now.”
He didn’t move, only watched her through the space over the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining room as she hustled around stacking bills into a pile.
“So you’re not going to try to stop your father from selling his shares back to my Dad?”
She sent another baleful look at him from her one eye. “I’m not going to let Dad sign anything while he’s in the hospital stoned on morphine. You wouldn’t either. But I don’t hold grudges.”
“You just said you blame me for the talk about you, but I had nothing to do with it,” he pointed out.
“You told your mother I had sex with you! And that you weren’t my first!” Her tone rang with, What the fuck?
“That’s not what I said.” He held up his hand, feeling a pinch of guilt over the way his mother had interpreted his ‘I didn’t get her virginity’ remark: that he’d completed the act, but there’d been no virginity to be had. “And people were talking already, Paige. You started that yourself.”
“No. That’s not fair.” She held up a finger, stern and strong and with an anger that was deep enough and genuine enough to earn his full attention. “I was a kid, being teased by my brother and his friend about still being a virgin. They turned it into me wanting to lose my cherry to you and you’re the one who made it real by showing up and making me think you liked me.” She pushed the ice pack back onto her face and turned her head to hide her expression behind it.
He had liked her, in the way that was ninety-percent youthful lust. But he’d barely spoken to her before that evening.
“I guess putting it out all over town is what everyone expects from a Fogarty, though. So that made it okay to call me a whore?”
“Paige.” She was exaggerating.
“Men offered me money. Men. A forty-year-old stranger propositioned me in the grocery story. Do you have any idea how scary that is when you’re seventeen? So, yeah, thanks for coming all this way to forgive me for that. You’re a helluva guy, Sterling.”
She flipped him her middle finger then went the long way around the partition and came back into the kitchen, opening the freezer again to pull out a loaf of bread.
He drilled holes in her back, trying to ignore the unease crowding out his righteous anger.
“Maybe I should thank you,” she said, turning with a magnanimous smile that went flat very quickly. “Since Dad finally took out a loan and sent me to Seattle, once he heard I was the town bike.”
He winced. “You didn’t act like a virgin,” he reminded in a mutter and watched her eyes bug out.
“I kissed you back so I deserved to be treated like a paid sex provider? Called out as a slut and turned down for honest work?”
No, he begrudgingly acknowledged, squirming at the picture she was painting, but she had kissed him back. She’d seemed damned willing to have sex with him in his car in her father’s driveway.
He could still recall the way his heart had pounded like a pile-driver from the moment her brother had said, ‘She wants you to be the one.’ He’d been planning to just ask her on a date. Somehow a few laughing, excited comments had turned into a kiss and that had turned into so much trembling heat pressed against him, he’d nearly lost his mind.
Did she have any idea how much of a betrayal it had been when the yank on his collar had come, as Grady had dragged him from the car and wailed on him? She had set him up for that insanity. Had to have.
“You and your brother wanted to take me down a peg. That’s why you set up your Dad to find us like that.”
“I didn’t know Dad was here!” She made a contemptuous noise then needed two tries to put the bread in the toaster. “Lyle brought his car home from work to fix it and I thought Dad was at the bar or something.”
Her hand was shaking, making him realize that for all her bravado, she was deeply rattled. Which shook him, making him feel even more of a bully when he was the injured party.
“I didn’t even know you were coming over,” she reminded. “How could I have arranged for Dad to show up right then?”
Sterling didn’t know, and he didn’t want to believe her. If she was telling the truth, it meant he’d been wrong. Worse than wrong.
…made me think you liked me.
If she hadn’t been setting him up, she might have been genuinely carried away that night. Didn’t that blow a man’s mind? If their necking had been purely natural reaction, they’d been positively volatile.
His heart took a few staggered, clunking steps as he absorbed that.
All this time, he had been telling himself she had felt nothing for him, but what if she’d been attracted in the same hormonal way? He’d not only rejected her, refusing to return her call, he’d been downright cruel, not caring about her shredded reputation. He’d been so busy wallowing in resentment that it had taken years for him to notice that the debacle had brought about the best thing that ever happened to him: Harvard and a life beyond Liebe Falls, Washington.
While the seventeen-year-old virgin had been fielding offers for horizontal work.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Really?
Judging by the filthy looks she was sending him, yeah, really.
How long had it taken Grady to figure out what was going on and put a stop to it? At least six months, because Paige had still been here when Sterling had come home for Christmas. She’d been hollow-cheeked and defensive looking when they’d pretended not to see each other in the grocery store. She’d been buying no-name spaghetti while he’d been picking up cranberry sauce and a pecan pie for his mother.
Oh, Christ.
She pulled a tub of margarine from the fridge, dropped it and swore.
Fortunately, the lid stayed on. He bent and handed it to her. “Are you okay?” he asked, realizing how pale she was.
“No. I get clumsy when my blood sugar is low. I was going to eat at this café on the way to Seattle, but—” She sighed and turned to set the margarine on the counter, then took out a plate and a butter knife.
He took in her bowed shoulders. Her delicate build. He wanted to brace her, set soothing hands on her shoulders.
“Are you diabetic? Christ, you’re not pregnant, are you?” He was not a bully. Didn’t mistreat women. Ever.
“No,” she said, mouth curling disdainfully. “Just a stress case who drinks too much coffee and forgets to eat. And my reluctance to get pregnant is the reason my divorce was finalized last Monday. It’s been quite a week. You. This delightful conversation? It is such sweet icing on top of everything else, I can barely stand it.” Bitter loathing coated her voice.
“Are you serious?” She was divorced? That news cold-cocked him so thoroughly, his mind blanked for a full three heartbeats.
“About what? That talking to you is icing? No, that’s sarcasm.” Her knife scraped over the toast as she buttered, then she pushed a corner into her mouth and bit, slapped the cold pack onto her face again and turned to regard him, the light in her eye defiant, but sad at the same time.
“I hadn’t heard about your divorce,” he said, really, really thrown. Divorced.
Not married.
Available, a sick voice whispered deep in his brain.
Fuck, what was it about her?
“Don’t beat yourself up.” She brushed crumbs from her lips. “You’ve only been in town an hour. You haven’t caught up to your mother yet. Be sure to tell her about this little ménage a trois when you do.” She jerked her head toward the bedroom where Rosie slept.
Sterling hung his hands on his hips, tipping his head back to send a humorless laugh at the stained ceiling. So bitter. Freshly divorced, too. Did any woman hate men more?
“Dad’s never getting that company back, is he?”
“I don’t know, Sterling,” she said tiredly. “I agree. My dad should retire, but...”
“But?”
She only bit into her toast and hitched her elbow at the other slice, offering it to him.
He was hungry enough to want it, but shook his head, something else occurring to him. Did her divorce mean she was moving back here?
“Are you thinking about exercising the option clause?”
“To take over from him? God, no. I don’t want to be here today. Why would I move back here for good?”
“I hear that,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, “But?” he prompted.
“Dad and I have talked before about his retiring early and it always looks like it will cause more problems than it will solve. For instance, if he leaves Roy’s, does Lyle get to keep his job?” She looked him right in the eye, like she was demanding an answer she already knew.
Sterling kept his teeth firmly clenched against saying, Not if I have anything to do with it.
Paige’s pained smile told him she knew what he was refusing to say aloud.
“If Lyle doesn’t have a job, his support payments to Brit dry up. Dad cashing out means he could pay off some of his own debts, but then what? He needs something to live on. So, honestly? My reasons for encouraging him to sell or not to sell will have nothing to do with you. That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it?”
“No, I want to hear that you’ll sell.”
She smiled without teeth. “And you always get what you want, don’t you? I’ve always envied that.”
~ * ~
Get your copy of Not In her Wildest Dreams on all digital platforms:
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Be sure to look for Book Two in The Dreams Duet, Only In His Sweetest Dreams, about Paige's brother.
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Sampler - Dreams Duet
Try before you buy. Read the opening two chapters of both books by downloading this sampler:
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January 1, 2017
#SampleSunday - Not In Her Wildest Dreams
RELEASES Jan 15th!
Sterling was Liebe Falls' Golden Boy until he messed around with the Wrong Girl. Rejected and ruined, Paige had to leave town, too. Now they're forced home and have to work together. Never mind a second chance, do they have any chance?
Not In Her Wildest Dreams
Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay
I'm excited to bring you a taste of my new duet, releasing Jan 15th and Feb 1. Paige and her brother grew up on the wrong side of town. She's the do-gooder trying to keep her family together. He's the bad boy who goes looking for a fresh start.
You can download a sampler with the first two chapters for both books by clicking on this image, or scroll down to read the opening pages of Not In Her Wildest Dreams.
Sampler - Dreams Duet
Not In Her Wildest Dreams
Small Town Secrets, Big Time Heartache
Paige Fogarty never believed Liebe Falls’ golden boy, Sterling Roy, could want a No Good Fogarty, but one magical night, they kissed—ruining her already murky reputation. Fifteen years later, she’s still reviled, now as a professional accountant auditing Roy Furnishings. It’s a daunting task even before she’s forced to work with him.
Sterling made a fool of himself over Paige once. Never again. He only returns to the factory his mother calls his ‘legacy’ to ensure Paige doesn’t pull a fast one. When their chemistry blazes hotter than ever, he wonders if he misjudged her, but secrets come to light, including an embezzler she tries to protect, proving she’s still the wrong girl. So why does holding onto her feel so right?
SampleSunday
Chapter One
“—would have been so much easier, but the fucker just won’t die.”
Paige Fogarty heard the male voice, followed by snorts of laughter, as she came up the wide hospital corridor toward the lounge. The voice was vaguely familiar and the words so tasteless, she instinctively halted. Should she proceed into that nasty conversation or come back in a few minutes?
She hung back, out of sight, glancing around for a ladies’ room even though she didn’t have to go.
While another man said, “That’s Fogarty for you. Always screwing up or screwing you over.”
“Hell yes. Tries to hump himself to death and can’t even get that right.”
Okay, that gravely voice she definitely knew. It was her father’s partner, Walter. They were talking about her dad. Such a classy town.
Leaning forward enough to see into the lounge, which was an open alcove of chairs set against three walls, a coffee table, and a sofa back that formed the invisible fourth wall, she confirmed, yep, that was Walter. Holding a meeting of the Superiority Club with the rest of Liebe Falls’ pillars of the community: the Mayor, the bank manager, and the guy who owned the car lot.
She couldn’t remember all their names, but her father sarcastically called them friends. They weren’t looking at her, too absorbed in referring to Dad as a ‘lucky bastard’ for surviving his latest heart attack and snickering about what a great way it would be to go—on top of a woman young enough to be his daughter.
Paige debated turning on her heel and heading back to Seattle without saying goodbye. The four-hour drive had never looked better. It had already been a brutal three days, but he didn’t need surgery this time, which was a relief. She had to come back when he was released anyway, to help him get settled at home.
But she had promised Zack she would drop off this stupid game on her way, so he could play with Pops when he came by after school. Zack had left his hoodie in her car, too. She’d pulled it on to duck through the rain on the way in. It had his iPod in the pocket so he’d be pretty cheesed with his Auntie Paige if she skipped town with it.
“Did he accept your offer?”
“Said it was probably time, yeah,” Walter said, but his voice sounded tight, like he wasn’t pleased.
Wait. What? Paige stepped forward. “What kind of offer?”
Shoulders jerked, and the men turned to form a horseshoe. As they recognized her, they went from looking surprised to uncomfortable to arrogantly disdainful.
Regret hit her square in the chest. Being the center of attention made her feel awkward at the best of times. When she slipped into town to see her family every couple of weeks, she didn’t usually face these types—the lofty ones who owned Liebe Falls and hated Fogartys on principle.
She loathed being on the defensive and reflexively switched to offense, which was never a good look for her.
“I’m sorry, is this a private conversation? About a man who is lucky to be alive? As opposed to what you were implying,” she said to Walter with a sugary smile. “That death by fornication would be so awesome.”
Shut up, Paige, she thought, but her mouth kept running.
“Maybe show a little respect when you come to visit a friend in the hospital.”
“I’m here for my prostate,” the car lot guy said.
“My daughter had a baby,” the Mayor said, turning red and making for the nearest stair well.
The bank manager swiped his handkerchief over his bald head, starting to stammer, “My wife’s car is in the shop and she’s off shift soon.” He cut himself off and hung his head as he followed the Mayor.
Walter didn’t so much as twitch a white hair.
“Respect is something you earn,” he said with a condescending curl of his lip.
The damp of rain on Zack’s hoodie penetrated to chill whatever heat Paige’s indignation had worked up. She shivered, regressing fifteen years in fewer seconds, once again soiled by talk that she was living up to the family name. She didn’t need this. She could walk away.
And would have, if a man hadn’t come up behind her.
“Excuse me,” he said, touching her shoulder lightly to indicate he’d like to get by.
Her bones turned to sand as recognition of that particular voice dawned. Sterling Roy. Walter’s son.
The battered box of Scrabble in her hand, the one she’d forgotten she was even holding, tilted. She’d meant to tape the end, but there hadn’t been any in the house, not without venturing into Lyle’s shop and monsters abided there. But maybe she should have risked her life and gone looking because the end of the box opened and letter tiles spilled all over the hospital’s green lino.
Far. Out.
Maybe she could spell, Terrific, while she was down here, groveling at the feet of these grade-A a-holes.
“Oh hell, I’m sorry.” Sterling crouched with her.
She glimpsed a dark gold crew cut of tousled spikes and a suit that put the other men’s to shame, then lowered her gaze to the scattered game pieces.
“I can do it,” she muttered, opening the box on the floor and thinking the whole thing would have to go into the incinerator. Hospital germs. Gross.
“It’s my fault. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He gathered up x’s and o’s and offered them to her.
What the hell was he doing here?
Apparently Walter found it equally questionable.
“What are you doing here?” He moved to stand above them.
“Plane was late.” Sterling’s voice had grown deeper, developing a hint of North Carolina ease. “I called Mom. She said you were here, seeing Grady. I thought you might need an exit strategy—”
Rude. Paige stopped what she was doing to look at him.
He met her gaze and shock froze his gorgeous features, giving her time to note that his all-American looks had matured into sculpted, Prince Charming perfection. His strong jaw was stronger, the cleft defined and lightly coated in brown-gold stubble. His straight nose was more arrogant, his lips full and sensual without being pretty. His brows had darkened enough to frame his eyes.
Those eyes were that kind of painful, mid-winter blue that was so intense it hurt to look into them. A cloud of scent surrounded him that was clean like rain, but warm and welcoming, masculine and enticing.
When did anyone ever feel their blood moving in their arteries? She did. Right now. Her whole body came alive with subtle throbs and a generation of heat that would embarrass her to death when it hit her cheeks.
“Paige.” His expression smoothed to something more neutral and polite while his gaze took in the hood that she’d pulled over her hair and the way the oversized hoodie hung off her narrow shoulders so much more loosely than it did on her fifteen-year-old nephew.
“I’ve seen Grady. We can leave now,” Walter urged.
Paige heard the tension in Walter’s voice and understood his impatience stemmed from Sterling being this close to Paige.
Because she was so irresistible to him.
Slapping the lid on the box, she stood, being careful to keep her hand over the broken end.
“Always a pleasure to see you, Sterling,” she said as he rose in front of her. She punctuated with a brilliant smile that she conjured purely to annoy his father.
It died on contact. Sterling wasn’t easy to lie to. His gaze traveled from her to his father and back.
Then he returned her killer smile with his own, letting his gaze linger as he surveyed her face as if he had every right to take a long perusal of her lack of make-up and dismayed scowl.
“Likewise,” he said, super friendly and edging toward charismatic, punishing her, she supposed, for daring to attempt to use him in a power play.
Rich and good-looking wasn’t enough for him. He had to be perceptive, too. Jerk.
He hadn’t changed much from the few times she’d spotted and avoided him, when they’d both been in town over the last fifteen years. He had filled out the way some men did in their thirties, from lanky to perfect, but he still had the celebrity air that made him the alpha-male just by showing up.
While she felt like the ultimate scullery maid, standing here with her broken board game, tongue-tied in the presence of the Homecoming King.
“No time to catch up,” she said with an edge of mockery. “I’m just saying ‘bye to Dad before I get on the road back to Seattle. Nice to see you.” Die.
“I hope he recovers quickly.” Sterling was better at sounding sincere than she was. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
Sarcastic ass. She wanted to show him her finger.
He looked to his father as a signal they leave.
She turned toward the corridor that would take her to her father’s room, but she hadn’t gone two steps before she heard, “Whoa, there.”
Seriously?
And why was part of her oddly pleased that he was calling her back? She ought to ignore his condescending order, but spun around to see what that arrogant pr—
Oh no.
Rosie.
Sidestepping to the nearest wastebasket, Paige threw the game away then cupped her hand for a few squirts of disinfectant. She rolled it into her skin as she walked to where Sterling was helping her father’s girlfriend stand upright.
“Sweetie, I thought you were sleeping? How did you get here?” Paige asked her.
“Drove,” Rosie slurred.
No, no, no. Rosie was smashed, swaying in her heels, blond curls crushed by the pillow where Paige had left her. Her make-up was smudged and she looked even more tired than Paige felt. Yet younger, wearing skinny jeans and a crop top. Paige felt about a million years old next to her, despite the fact they were both thirty-two.
“You drove Dad’s car? Rosie, you can’t drive like this.” Paige said it firmly, but without anger. She didn’t shame, didn’t let herself engage too deeply at all. Years of dealing with alcoholics had taught her there was no point in taking this personally, although she would check in with the police, make sure there hadn’t been any hit and runs in the last fifteen minutes.
This was awful.
“Let’s sit down,” Sterling suggested, starting to steer Rosie toward the lounge.
“Actually, can you help me get her to my car? I have to take her home.” No way could she leave Rosie here to get herself back to the house. The car, however, would stay here at the hospital. The keys might even come to Seattle with her.
“Sterling.” Walter’s bushy brows lowered with disapproval.
“Dad,” Sterling shot back, impatient at being scolded. “Go ahead. I’ll meet you at home.”
“I want to see Grady. Is he okay? I need to see he’s okay,” Rosie whimpered. “Every time I close my eyes...” Her voice trailed off into an anguished moan.
She had already treated Paige to the play-by-play of exactly how and when her father’s heart attack had happened. Super awful. Paige felt for her, she really did, but seriously, way too much information.
Why did you move all the way to Seattle, Paige?
Because she couldn’t afford airfare to Australia.
“Let’s get you home,” Paige said, pointing Sterling toward the elevator. “You have to work tomorrow, remember?”
“They fired me!”
When had that happened? Fan-freaking-tastic.
“I’ll call them. See if we can work something out,” Paige said, even as she silently wailed that she so didn’t need this. “It will be okay.”
“Thank you, Paige.” Rosie let out a big sob and lurched out of Sterling’s grip to fling herself at Paige for a hug, but her feet weren’t moving as fast as the rest of her. As she pitched forward, her brow cracked into Paige’s cheekbone.
Jolting pain cut through the dull headache Paige was already nursing.
Shit. Really?
She tangled arms with Rosie, trying to push her away, but Rosie yelped and hung on, completely off balance. They both staggered and tilted. She was going down and taking Paige with her.
A strong arm scooped behind Paige’s back, firm and a little too proprietary, leveling her onto her feet. Sterling. Of course it was him, freaking white knight, clasping her into his muscled frame like some bare-chested hero from a romance novel cover, smelling like a high-end magazine sample.
He released Paige so he could pry Rosie off her and support her himself. Walter was making choking noises, but Sterling only wore an expression of pained patience.
Rosie touched her eyebrow and said, “That hurt.”
No kidding. Paige blinked back tears and covered her hot cheek, wondering if she was going to have a shiner.
Walter grumbled at them to get into the elevator and touched the button for the ground floor.
A moment later, Rosie went completely lax as Sterling buckled her into the passenger seat of Paige’s hatchback.
“Thanks,” Paige said begrudgingly from the driver’s side, twisting to put her purse on the floor in the back seat.
“You’re taking her to Grady’s? I’ll follow you, help you get her into the house.”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Paige dismissed, mentally rearranging her day and desperately wanting it to be over.
“She outweighs you. Is your brother there to help?”
She sighed. Who knew where Lyle was these days.
“Even if he’s not, I’ll manage,” she insisted.
He slid his gaze to where Rosie’s head lolled. It looked like Paige was tampering with a body.
“She said she can manage,” Walter said, jangling his keys.
“I’ll meet you at home, Dad,” Sterling insisted and closed the door on Rosie’s side, not giving Paige another opportunity to argue.
Please let Lyle be home, she prayed as she shifted into reverse and backed out of her spot, even though Lyle hated Sterling enough there might actually be a dead body at the end of any run-in those two men might have.
She really didn’t need Sterling coming to the house and being all judgey. She had done what she always did when she was there: vacuumed, dusted, cleaned out the fridge and brought in fresh groceries, but that didn’t change reality. The house was neglected and dated and worn. Lyle treated the bottom floor like something between a speak-easy and a metal shop.
She really didn’t need Sterling, with his Italian leather shoes—yes, she had noticed those and recognized the brand because her ex wore them—and his silk tie and his manor-born manners getting an eyeful of where she came from.
She was too ashamed.
~ * ~
I hope you're intrigued. You can get your copy of Not In her Wildest Dreams here:
Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay
Be sure to look for Book Two in The Dreams Duet, Only In His Sweetest Dreams.
Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay
Want to be the first to know about my upcoming books? Join my newsletter! You'll auto-magically receive a link to download Cruel Summer, a short ebook romance I wrote exclusively for my subscribers.
December 29, 2016
Bites Of Books - Cruel Summer
When I completed and submitted my thirtieth book, I decided to celebrate by offering a taste from each one. Enjoy!
Cruel Summer is a short story romance I wrote exclusively for my newsletter subscribers. This is the opening few pages. Enjoy! (And then join my newsletter and you'll auto-magically get a link to download the rest.)
~ * ~
Chelsea Parks kept running all the way down the jet bridge, relieved to see the air hostess waving her into her connection, rather than locking her out.
Heart racing as she entered the galley, she breathlessly asked the woman to stow her bridesmaid dress in the little closet at the front. The jury was still out on whether her checked bag would make it to California, but she would be covered—literally—for Amber’s wedding.
Turning to find her seat, which was in First Class thanks to Amber being a travel agent and a generous friend, Chelsea caught sight of the man who would be seated next to her.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
She glanced with mild panic around the very full plane, all the way to the back of coach. That tight connection in Denver began to look highly suspicious.
Okay, it wasn’t like she hadn’t been mentally girding her loins to see Gavin Fairfield again. She had just thought it would be at the beach house, where she would have space to avoid him after a very brief, very civilized, very fake, Nice to see you again.
Not that she was still mad. It had been six years. She was so over it.
Over him.
“Your sister is hilarious,” she said as she came even with him.
He looked up from his tablet and—damn. Those eyes. They were like antique glass, translucent blue-green, sometimes fiery, sometimes cool. At this moment the color nearly disappeared into a halo as his pupils expanded in surprise.
“Chelsea.” His mouth formed her name in a way that was familiar and fascinating. Don’t look at his mouth.
But those lips.
The top one was thin, barely there, yet shaped with such exaggerated peaks and valleys she kind of tripped into the hint of the smile he projected. Then the bottom one, so full and sensual, reminded her of the times she’d kissed and nibbled it and—
Oh hell, this was going to be a long week. And it wasn’t even a full one. Four days. This flight was going to be less than four hours, but it would be interminable.
“Can I get in?” she asked, pretending the reason she was blushing and sweating was that run from across the concourse. “I think everyone’s waiting for me.”
“Yeah, of course.” He unbent, rising to his oh, so dominating height of six foot something. He’d filled out since university. His chest was wide, his shoulders powerful, his gray-blue shirt tight enough to accentuate all of him to perfection.
He held out his hand for her courier bag.
“I’ll put it under,” she said, ducking to the middle seat and catching a whiff of his familiar man products, taking her back to necking in his room that one semester she’d scrimped and saved and worked so hard to make happen.
Gavin settled back into his seat and did what guys his size did on planes: splayed his knee into her space.
Chelsea shrank in on herself, trying not to touch him as she belted herself in. Trying to pretend this was totally fine. They’d been kids. And he’d always been a player. She had known that going in. Becoming notch number one-hundred-and-whatever on his bedpost had been her choice. At no time should she have supposed she was special.
Even though she had kind of hoped and wished and convinced herself she was at least a little bit special.
Taking her romance novel out of her bag, she set the book in her lap and used her foot to push her bag under the seat in front of her.
“A paper book?” he asked.
She glanced at him, vaguely bemused that he wasn’t taking issue with her reading material so much as her medium. “I’m on computers a lot. I like to unplug.”
“Oh. Not just one of your charming, old-fashioned ways then.”
Yeah, she was old-fashioned. For instance, when she slept with a guy, she kind of expected him to only sleep with her. Without a word, she opened her book to the bookmark, shifting it to another page as she did.
“I got your card. Thank you,” he added.
Something in his voice made her throat ache. She moved the bookmark back to the spot it had been in and closed the novel on her finger. “How is your mom?”
He hitched a shoulder, eyes averting from hers as the rest of his expression fought to stay neutral. “You’ll see. It’s killing her and Amber that Dad won’t be there to give her away.”
Chelsea wanted to pat his leg and say something bland like, At least she has you, because she felt the loss of Mr. Fairfield very deeply and might cry if she opened up too much. She couldn’t do her surrogate father or any of his family the disservice of glossing over her feelings though.
“Whenever I think of your dad, I remember the time at soccer when the new coach thought I was his daughter and your dad just went with it. Pretended for a whole season I was his. I always thought I’d ask him to walk me down the aisle.”
That was supposed to come out light and self-deprecating, but to her horror, she started to choke up.
“He was always there for me,” she added fast. “Whatever I needed. I miss his dumb jokes.”
“Yeah.” Gavin’s laugh was strangled. His hand twitched and she realized she was staring at his fist on his thigh, knuckles white and stark against his tan. “Your mom was sick,” he said in sudden recollection, glancing at her. “That’s why you didn’t make the service.”
“Yeah. Chemo.” Her voice went husky, but she kept her brave smile in place with superhuman effort. “She’s doing okay. Still run down, but her prognosis is good.”
They both needed a minute to collect themselves. She cleared her throat and opened her book, but could feel him looking at her.
The plane was taxiing, making a turn. Maybe he was just looking out the window, watching Denver go by.
She couldn’t concentrate on the words before her, too preoccupied with thinking maybe Amber had done her a favor, seating her next to Gavin for this final leg of the trip.
They’d made a kind of peace, she decided. Set the tone that the past was the past and they could be adults and have a conversation and, really, had nothing much to say to one another anymore.
~ * ~
Want to be the first to see an excerpt of an upcoming book? Join my newsletter! You'll auto-magically receive a link to download Cruel Summer, a short ebook romance I wrote exclusively for my subscribers.
December 27, 2016
Bites Of Books - The Secret Beneath The Veil
When I completed and submitted my thirtieth book, I decided to celebrate by offering a taste from each one. Enjoy!
The Secret Beneath The Veil is one of those books that surprised me. I had a vision of the bride running away, but didn't know what was going to happen after that. The hero began as a Russian but changed to a Greek.
Keep reading after the excerpt for links to read the first two chapters and the first kiss.
~ * ~
Mikolas always slept lightly, but tonight he was on guard for more than old nightmares. He was expecting exactly what happened. The balcony in Viveka’s stateroom wasn’t the only thing alarmed. When she left her suite, the much more discreet internal security system caused his phone to vibrate.
He acknowledged the signal, then pushed to his feet and adjusted his shorts. That was another reason he’d been restless. He was hard. And he never wore clothes to bed. They were uncomfortable even when they weren’t twisted around his erection, but he’d anticipated rising at some point to deal with his guest so he had supposed he should wear something to bed.
He’d expected to find release with his guest, but when he’d gone to her room, she’d been fast asleep, curled up on the love seat like a child resisting bedtime, one hand pillowing her cheek. She hadn’t stirred when he’d carried her to the bed and tucked her in, leaving him sorely disappointed.
That obvious exhaustion, along with her pale skin and the slight frown between her brows, had plucked a bizarre reaction from him. Something like concern. That bothered him. He was impervious to emotional manipulations, but Viveka was under his skin—and she hadn’t even been awake and doing it deliberately.
He sighed with annoyance, moving into his office.
If a woman was going to wake him in the night, it ought to be for better reasons than this.
He had no doubt this private deck in the bow was her destination. He’d watched her talk to his porter extensively about the lifeboat and winch system while he’d sat here working earlier. He wasn’t surprised she was attempting to escape. He wasn’t even angry. He was disappointed. He hated repeating himself.
But there was an obdurate part of him that enjoyed how she challenged him. Hardly anyone stood up to him anymore.
Plus he was sexually frustrated enough to be pleased she was setting up a midnight confrontation. When he’d kissed her earlier, desire had clawed at his control with such savagery, he’d nearly abandoned one for the other and made love to her right there at the table.
His need to be in command of himself and everyone else had won out in the end. He’d pulled back from the brink, but it had taken more effort than he liked to admit.
“Come on,” he muttered, searching for her in the dim glow thrown by the running lights.
This was an addict’s reaction, he thought with self-contempt. His brain knew she was lethal, but the way she infused him with a sense of omnipotence was a greater lure. He didn’t care that he risked self-destruction. He still wanted her. He was counting the pulse beats until he could feel the rush of her hitting his system.
Where was she?
Not overboard again, surely.
The thought sent a disturbing punch into the middle of his chest. He didn’t know what had made him throw off his jacket and shoes and dive in after her today. It had been pure instinct. He’d shot out the emergency exit behind her, determined to hear why she had upended his plans, but he hadn’t been close enough to stop her tumble into the water.
His heart had jammed when he’d seen her knock into the side of the yacht, worried she was unconscious as she went under.
Pulling her and that whale of a gown to the surface had nearly been more than he could manage. He didn’t know what he would have done if the strength of survival hadn’t imbued him. Letting go of her hadn’t been an option. It wasn’t basic human decency that had made him dive into that water, but something far more powerful that refused, absolutely refused, to go back to the surface without her.
Damn it, now he couldn’t get that image of her disappearing into the water out of his head. He pushed from his office onto his private deck, where the rain and splashing waves peppered his skin. She wasn’t coming down the stairs toward him.
He climbed them, walking along the outer rail of the mid-deck, seeing no sign of her.
Actually, he walked right past her. He spied her when he paused at the door into the bridge, thinking to enter and look for her on the security cameras. Something made him glance back the way he’d come and he spotted the ball of dark clothing and white skin under the life preserver ring.
What the hell?
“Viveka.” He retraced his few steps, planting his bare feet carefully on the wet deck. “What are you doing out here?”
She lifted her face. Her hair was plastered in tendrils around her neck and shoulders. Her chin rattled as she stammered, “I n-n-need a l-l-life v-v-vest.”
“You’re freezing.” He was cold. He bent to draw her to her feet, but she stubbornly stayed in a knot of trembling muscle, fingers wrapped firmly around the mount for the ring.
What a confounding woman. With a little more force, he started to peel her fingers open.
The boat listed, testing his balance.
Before he could fully right himself, Viveka cried out and nearly knocked him over, rising to throw her arms around his neck, slapping her soaked pajamas into his front.
He swore at the impact, working to stay on his feet.
“Are we going over?”
“No.”
He could hardly breathe, she was clinging so tightly to his neck, and shaking so badly he could practically hear her bones rattling. He swore under his breath, putting together all those anxious looks out to the water. This was why she hadn’t shown the sense to be terrified of him today. She was afraid of boats.
“Come inside.” He drew her toward the stairs down to his deck.
She balked. “I don’t want to be trapped if we capsize.”
“We won’t capsize.”
She resisted so he picked her up and carried her all the way through his dark office into his stateroom, where he’d left a lamp burning, kicking doors shut along the way.
He sat on the edge of his bed, settling her icy, trembling weight on his lap. “This is only a bit of wind and freighter traffic. We’re hitting their wakes. It’s not a storm.”
There was no heat beneath these soaked pajamas. Even in the dim light, he could see her lips were blue. He ran his hands over her, trying to slick the water out of her pajamas while he rubbed warmth into her skin.
“There doesn’t have to be a storm.” She was pressing into him, her lips icy against his collarbone, arms still around his neck, relaxing and convulsing in turns. “My mother drowned when it was calm.”
“From a boat?” he guessed.
“Grigor took her out.” Her voice fractured. “Maybe on purpose to drown her. I don’t know, but I think she wanted to leave him. He took her out sailing and said he didn’t know till morning that she fell, but he never acted like he cared. He told me to stop crying and take care of Trina.”
If this was a trick, it was seriously good acting. The emotion in her voice sent him tumbling into equally disturbing memories buried deep in his subconscious. Your mother died while you were at school. The landlord had made the statement without hesitation or regret, casually destroying Mikolas’s world with a few simple words. A woman from child services is coming to get you.
So much horror had followed, Mikolas barely registered anymore how bad that day had been. He’d shuffled it all into the past once his grandfather had taken him in. The page had been turned and he never leafed back to it.
But suddenly he was stricken with that old grief. He couldn’t ignore the way her heart pounded so hard he felt it against his arm across her back. Her skin was clammy, her spine curled tight against life’s blows.
His hand unconsciously followed that hard curve, no longer just warming her, but trying to soothe while stealing a long-overdue shred of comfort for himself from someone who understood what he’d suffered.
He recovered just as quickly, shaking off the moment of empathy and rearranging her so she was forced to look up at him.
“I’ve been honest with you, haven’t I?” Perhaps he sounded harsh, but she had cracked something in him. He didn’t like the cold wind blowing through him as a result. “I would tell you if we were in danger. We’re not.”
~ * ~
Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay
Fun fact: The working title for this book was Runaway Bride. If you've seen my #SampleSunday posts, you'll know why. They're here if you missed them:
Read the beginning of Chapter Two here
Read their first kiss here
Want to be the first to see an excerpt of an upcoming book? Join my newsletter! You'll auto-magically receive a link to download Cruel Summer, a short ebook romance I wrote exclusively for my subscribers.
December 23, 2016
Happy New Year!
UPDATED: This was my Christmas post, but it has so many links to fun stuff, I wanted to post it again in case you missed it.
Keep reading to download samplers (including my upcoming Secret Dreams Duet) enter a Goodreads Giveaway and catch up on Bites Of Books!
Samplers!
You can download these Samplers for your eReader or App from Bookfunnel, a reputable service many authors use to deliver free content. They also help with tech support. Click the image or title to download.
NEW! Secret Dreams Duet
Releases in Jan/Feb 2017
BABY SWAP! The Wrong Heirs
BONUS! The Russian's Acquisition
Goodreads Giveaway
Worried you'll only get a lump of coal in your stocking? Enter this giveaway, which starts Christmas Eve! You might win an advance copy of my March book, Pursued By The Desert Heir. Then keep reading for Bites Of Books.
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Goodreads Book Giveaway
Pursued by the Desert Prince
by Dani Collins
Giveaway ends January 21, 2017.
See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.
Enter Giveaway
Bites Of Books
I had grand ambitions to publish these as #30DaysOfExcerpts in November. Thankfully I know my limitations and had the sense to simply celebrate that I had thirty titles published, then set the goal to post all these excerpts by end of year.
Perhaps I don't know my limitations as well as I thought because here it is Christmas Eve and I have six more posts to prep and publish. I'll be honest, I suspect you'll see the rest in 2017.
This should keep you entertained until then, though!
Proof Of Their Sin
A Debt Paid In Passion
Hometown Hero
Scorch
His Blushing Bride
Bought By Her Italian Boss
The Bachelor's Baby
Taken By The Raider
His Christmas Miracle
No Longer Forbidden?
More Than A Convenient Marriage?
An Heir To Bind Them
Seduced Into The Greek's World
The Ultimate Seduction
The Sheikh's Sinful Seduction
Hustled To The Altar
The Russian's Acquisition
Blame The Mistletoe
Vows Of Revenge
The Secret In Room 823
Mastering Her Role
Playing The Master
The Marriage He Must Keep
The Consequence He Must Claim
The Secret Beneath The Veil
Cruel Summer
Enjoy a safe and happy New Year's Eve. See you in 2017!
Merry Christmas!
Here's a little Christmas message from me, recorded the other day when it was snowing:
I'll be off grid with family through the new year. You won't hear from me much. I hope you'll also have some downtime over the next week to catch up with loved ones.
If you're a mouse stuck at work while the cat's away, and would like some distractions, here are a few samplers you can download and read surreptitiously.
Keep reading to enter a Goodreads Giveaway and catch up on Bites Of Books, too!
Samplers!
You can download these Samplers for your eReader or App from Bookfunnel, a reputable service many authors use to deliver free content. They also help with tech support. Click the image or title to download.
NEW! Secret Dreams Duet
Releases in Jan/Feb 2017
BABY SWAP! The Wrong Heirs
BONUS! The Russian's Acquisition
Goodreads Giveaway
Worried you'll only get a lump of coal in your stocking? Enter this giveaway, which starts Christmas Eve! You might win an advance copy of my March book, Pursued By The Desert Heir. Then keep reading for Bites Of Books.
.goodreadsGiveawayWidget { color: #555; font-family: georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; text-align: left; font-size: 14px;
font-style: normal; background: white; }
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font-weight: bold;
text-decoration: none;
outline: none;
font-size: 13px;
padding: 8px 12px;
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.goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink:hover {
color: #181818;
background-color: #F7F2ED;
border: 1px solid #AFAFAF;
text-decoration: none;
}
Goodreads Book Giveaway
Pursued by the Desert Prince
by Dani Collins
Giveaway ends January 21, 2017.
See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.
Enter Giveaway
Bites Of Books
I had grand ambitions to publish these as #30DaysOfExcerpts in November. Thankfully I know my limitations and had the sense to simply celebrate that I had thirty titles published, then set the goal to post all these excerpts by end of year.
Perhaps I don't know my limitations as well as I thought because here it is Christmas Eve and I have six more posts to prep and publish. I'll be honest, I suspect you'll see the rest in 2017.
This should keep you entertained until then, though!
Proof Of Their Sin
A Debt Paid In Passion
Hometown Hero
Scorch
His Blushing Bride
Bought By Her Italian Boss
The Bachelor's Baby
Taken By The Raider
His Christmas Miracle
No Longer Forbidden?
More Than A Convenient Marriage?
An Heir To Bind Them
Seduced Into The Greek's World
The Ultimate Seduction
The Sheikh's Sinful Seduction
Hustled To The Altar
The Russian's Acquisition
Blame The Mistletoe
Vows Of Revenge
The Secret In Room 823
Mastering Her Role
Playing The Master
The Marriage He Must Keep
The Consequence He Must Claim
