Sandra Harris's Blog, page 9

A Chuckle for Friday

I once had a rose named after me and I was very flattered. But I was not pleased to read the description in the catalogue: no good in a bed, but fine up against a wall. – Eleanor Roosevelt

That woman had a sense of humour!

Sandy

Australian Romance Readers Association Awards 2013 – Finalist!

Oh, wow! Talk about a great way to start the New Year.

Two days ago I discovered I was nominated in two sections of the ARRA Awards. This morning I received an email advising I am a finalist in both, the Favourite Sci Fi, Fantasy or Futuristic Romance section and the Favourite New Romance Author for 2013.

Again, thank you to all those who voted for Alien, Mine and thought enough of my writing and story to consider me a favourite new romance author.

I even have this completely groovy ‘finalist’ logo to include on my website. How cool is that?

Winners will be announced at the ARRA Awards dinner on Saturday, 22nd March.

Sandy

Australian Romance Readers Association Awards – Nominated!

I am absolutely thrilled to discover that I’ve been nominated in two sections of the ARRA Awards.

Alien, Mine Book Cover

First in the favourite Sci-Fi, Fantasy or Futuristic Romance and secondly Best New Romance Author.

Thank you so much to those ARRA members who put forth my name and book, I am completely stoked that you thought that much of my work.

Congratulations to all those nominated and good luck!

Sandy

Thursday Threads with Wareeze Woodson

Happy New Year, all!

I trust everyone enjoyed a great festive season and are raring to get stuck into the new year.

To kick this year’s Thursday Threads off we have Wareeze Woodson’s sensual regency romance, Conduct Unbecoming of a Gentleman.

 The Blurb:

Recently widowed Lady Laurel Laningham flees Landings to escape her untenable position. Alone now and at the mercy of her sister-in-law, she decides to nestle under her aunt’s wings for a spell. To add to her burdens, her young son’s new guardian, Lord Adron Gladrey, has announced his intentions to take complete charge of his ward. The killer is stalking her and a devious jewel thief is stealing the family jewels. Can she convince her son’s guardian she is not a dangerous lunatic and is perfectly capable of raising her son or will he always consider her untrustworthy as a mother to his ward? Will his stubborn blindness send her straight into the path of the murderer, or will he relent in time to save her from following her husband into the grave?

The Excerpt:

Freedom. Freedom. Freedom. Each rotation of the hired coach’s wheels whispered the word. Laurel cradled her sleeping two-year-old son, the new Lord Laningham, as a heady sense of satisfaction curved her lips. She didn’t even mind the slight musty odor pervading the vehicle, although she leaned over and raised the window cover for a breath of fresh air. With a sigh she settled back against the seat. At least for a while, Rhonda’s constant complaints would no longer ring in her ears and for that she was devoutly thankful.

Out of nowhere, a rider flashed by the coach window and her startled gaze locked with his brief glance. Although she’d caught only a glimpse of the stranger, in that instant his intense, deep-brown eyes mocked her and unease shivered down her spine. She stared after him for a second before instinctively gathering her child closer. Laurel planted a kiss on his blonde curls, drawing reassurance from the nearness of his warm little body. As long as she had Jamie nothing else mattered. Her son must remain safe.

Everything happened at once. The coach lunged to the right and scraped against the bushes beside the road, sending a shower of droplets splashing inside the window. Her book and Jamie’s wooden horse thumped to the floor. The racket of brakes screeching shrilled in her ears as the vehicle rattled and lurched out of control.

“Jamie,” she cried.

The horses’ screams echoed through her head and the sudden jerk of the coach as the team broke away from the trace chains added to her fear. When the doomed coach started to roll onto its side, she braced her feet against the opposite bench and clutched her son tightly against her chest. Tumbling against the seat, she scraped her elbows and banged her head. The sensation of falling forever tensed every muscle in her body before the force of the impact threatened to tear Jamie from her arms. She landed between the banquettes against the door, her howling child clutched in her arms. The carriage lantern, suspended from a hook on the wall, swayed overhead scraping metal against metal and briefly caught her attention.

Laurel struggled to a sitting position, gulped a deep breath and wiped dirt from Jamie’s face. With her heart in her throat, she examined a tiny trickle of blood at his hairline. Thankful his injury appeared minor she clutched him to her bosom and kissed his cheek, comforting his cries as her pulse slowed to normal.

The accident left her shaken. Frightened, she felt more alone than ever. If only Robert were still alive. She stifled that thought immediately—nothing could be accomplished by wishing for the impossible.

Laurel drew a shaky breath and tilted her head back in order to peer at the window above. Panic overwhelmed her and her breath came in short gasps. The banquettes seemed to close in on her. She fought to escape her trapped position in the overturned coach. Holding Jamie with one arm, she grasped the seat with her other hand and struggled to her feet. Her head whirled for a second before settling back into a deep pounding pain, while her knee and elbow throbbed in rhythm.

Ignoring her discomfort, she glanced around. As she studied the problem, she heard the murmur of voices and listened intently. With a sigh of relief, she recognized the driver’s voice however the other deep tone was unfamiliar.

“Help me,” She cried, “I’m in here.”

Only silence echoed back and the sound of voices moved off. For a second, panic clenched her stomach and her head pounded even harder.

“Stay calm,” she whispered, and the words spoken aloud steadied her. She listened for several long minutes before someone climbed atop the overturned coach. The door was yanked open with considerable force and she breathed a sigh of relief. Gray clouds added gloom to the inside of the carriage and a dark figure blocked out what little light was available. She couldn’t see his face clearly, but his broad shoulders and the arrogant slant of his head were a shadowy outline against the stormy sky.

His voice floated down to her. “Are you or the child injured?”

“I think several scrapes and bruises at most.” Laurel trembled and brushed her bonnet out of her face. She heard his quick intake of breath.

“You’re positive? You must have taken quite a tumble when the coach overturned. Possibly you’re more injured than you know.”

“Only a little shaken.” She took a deep, calming breath then continued with more force. “I’m certain we’re both fine.”

He hesitated and exhaled deeply. “A damsel in distress then. Do you perhaps have a name?”

Authority rang in his voice. She clutched Jamie a little tighter and offered him a tremulous smile. “Laurel Jane Laningham. Thank you for coming to our rescue.” She shaded her eyes with one hand, waiting for him to return the introduction.

“Let’s get you out of there. Hand me the boy first.”

He reached down into the overturned coach and Laurel lifted Jamie above her head into the waiting arms of the stranger. Her rescuer leapt to the ground with her son. A chill of foreboding curled around her. He’d said the boy. An unknown man shouldn’t know the child was a male. With every one of her senses alert, she listened intently for the stranger to return. Saddle leather squeaked and the thunder of hooves struck the ground in retreat.

Laurel screamed, “Bring my son back. I’ll see you hanged for this, you blackguard. Come back here. Help. Driver, help me.”

Links:

Amazon

Website

Goodreads

FB

 

 

Sandy

Merry Christmas and Thursday Threads with Meggan Connors

Hope you all had/are having a very Merry Christmas wherever in the world you are.

This week’s Thursday Threads is with Meggan Connors and her sensual, historical romance The Marker.

Blurb:

When her father loses her in a poker game, Lexie Markland is sent to work in the household of Nicholas Wetherby for one year to pay off the debt. Innocent, but not naïve, she is savvy enough to know she must maintain her distance from this man, who frustrates her with his relentless teasing but whose kisses bring her to her knees. Because although she may be just another conquest to him, it’s not just her heart in jeopardy should she succumb to Nicholas’ considerable charms.

Since his brother’s death almost a year before, nothing has held Nicholas’ attention for long—not women, not booze, not even an excellent hand at cards. Nothing, that is, until he meets the woman he won in a drunken night of poker. Intrigued by his prize and her chilly reserve, he makes it his mission to crack Lexie’s cool demeanor. But even as passion explodes between them, the question remains: will Nicholas be able to take the ultimate risk…and gamble on love?

Excerpt:

Sacramento, California

Summer 1874

Nicholas Wetherby threw back his whiskey in a single swallow. He hadn’t touched his cards since he had first looked at them, casually raising bets as other players placed them. Recognizing Nicholas’s betting patterns as those of a man with a remarkable hand, the other players at the table folded, one after the other. All except one.

Idly twirling a silver dollar between his fingers, Nicholas leaned back in his chair, hooked his arm over the back and studied the last remaining a player, John Markland. Markland was a man who had been perpetually down on his luck since the death of his wife, and any good sense he may have once had must have died with her. Only an improbable run of good fortune brought Markland to this particular table, and he played like a man possessed. Nicholas had once heard he lived more or less hand-to-mouth in a seedy part of town with his daughter, and the stack of cash in front of him would keep him in food and booze for a good month. If the man had any common sense left, he wouldn’t push his luck—he would fold this hand, gather his winnings, and count both his cash and his blessings.

“How much you got, Markland?” he asked.

Tobacco smoke clung to the air as Markland mashed the end of his cigar between his teeth. Making a show of counting his money, he said, “Ninety.”

Still not looking back at his cards, Nicholas tossed in a hundred dollars. A part of him expected Markland to fold over the casual way he placed his bet, as if he didn’t care about the sum of money being wagered. And, in fact, he didn’t.

“Well, that ought to cover it.”

The desperate greed lighting his eyes poorly disguised, Markland stared at the cash in front of him. The problem with Markland was that he lacked both the fortitude and the skill to earn his money, so he had to win it. Pity he wasn’t even very good at that.

Nicholas despised men like him. But then, Nicholas despised just about everyone these days.

“I’ll sign over the house to you if you go all in, Wetherby.”

Nicholas chuckled, but it felt hollow in his gut. “I’m sure it’s mortgaged for more than it’s worth. I think not.”

He didn’t want anything Markland had to offer, but at least the betting was getting interesting. The familiar rush accompanying a big win caught his attention and pierced through the languor that had been dogging him for months. Ever since the death of his brother almost a year before, no amount of drink or women seemed to be able to fill the void in his life, though a big win at poker at least piqued his interest for a time.

“I’ll give you my watch,” Markland said, fishing into his pocket. “It’s pure gold.”

Nicholas eyed the banged-up trinket his opponent dangled in front of him, acting like a street vendor hawking ‘genuine diamonds’ or some cure-all elixir. As if he would want such a piece of junk. Nicholas almost wished the man had more pride.

Almost.

“I have a pocket watch, and I don’t need another,” Nicholas replied, swiftly losing interest in the betting and wanting to move on to the next hand. “Just call with the ninety and let’s be done with this. Except for the cash in front of you, you have nothing I want.”

Markland fidgeted in his seat and tapped his index finger nervously on the worn, green felt of the card table. His eyes shifted from Nicholas to Nicholas’s money, and over at the bar. “A moment, Wetherby,” he said, holding up his hand. “Barkeep!” he shouted to the man standing behind the gleaming mahogany bar. When he turned in their direction, Markland said, “Bourbon whiskey, for me and my new friend here. The ‘48, if you would.”

“Going for the good stuff, I see.”

“Nothing but the best for me and my friends,” Markland said, raising a glass in a toast.

Never one to turn down a free drink—especially not one as good as the ‘48—Nicholas nodded his thanks, replied, “Indeed,” and drained his glass. He placed it on the table with heavy thud and said, “Just call.”

“No, wait!” Markland cried. “My daughter! If I lose, I’ll give you my daughter!”

 

Purchase at Amazon

https://www.facebook.com/sarahheggerauthor?ref=hl










https://twitter.com/SarahHegger

http://sarahhegger.com/

Sandy

I’m in the Examiner!

Alien, Mine Book Cover

Today Alien, Mine is presented in the Arts & Entertainments section of the Houston Examiner. How fabulous is that?

I’m also pleased to announce that I’ve concluded my duties as contest manager for the Romance Writers of Australia Ripping Start contest and I’ll be getting cracking on finishing my current WIP in quick time.

Sandy

 

Thursday Threads with Ellie Hill

Threading her way through this week is Ellie Hill, presenting her sensual, paranormal romance Hunted Dreams.

A woman trapped in an endless cycle of nightmares. A handsome hero committed to rescuing her. It’s just like Sleeping Beauty – except the dreaming damsel is the sword wielder and the hero is a psychic vampire feeding off her pain.

The Excerpt:

“The Leeches got their nickname from the way they eat.” Reed’s voice was even.

“They drink blood?” she breathed.

He shook his head. “A little less literal. The Broschi are empathic. They can feel and even evoke other people’s feelings, negative ones like fear, pain, horror.”

“Sun and stars,” she breathed. She got it.

She got it.

“They’re eating me,” she said, and laughed, but not humorously. “These superhuman, psychic Leech people are keeping me trapped in nightmares, eating my feelings.” Her chest felt heavy. She pressed her left hand against it and felt its gentle rise and fall.

None of this is real. All this drama, all this fear, all the pain and anger and malice. None of it exists except in the form of juicy brainwaves that these beings sip like mint juleps. No wonder she couldn’t die, couldn’t escape, couldn’t ever wake up.

Reed’s face was flushed, his nostrils wide. Her handsome hero. For a minute, she hated him, hated that he got to wake up, hated this situation, hated everything boxing her in this narrow world.

Katana glared at him for a moment. “I’m trapped in here,” she grated.

His face relaxed into compassion. Hers hardened.

“I know,” he said.

She stared at him for a moment longer. Finally, with a sigh, she leaned her head against the glass. “Who are you, Reed?”

“I’m a Leech, too, Katana.”

Links:

Blog: http://ellehillauthor.blogspot.com/

Website: http://www.ellehill.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Elle-Hill/155409064486649?ref=hl

Purchasing the book: http://www.amazon.com/Hunted-Dreams-ebook/dp/B00CHUEIIG

Twitter: @ellehillauthor

Cold Fear with Suzanne Brandyn

I asked author Suzanne Brandyn to share something of herself and her new release Cold Fear.

About Suzanne:

I was born on the edge of the outback in NSW, and from there I pursued life from the hot, red dust of cattle country to our cities and small country towns. I’ve mustered sheep on a horse and a motorbike, spotlighted for foxes and learnt to shoot a rifle, dived the Great Barrier Reef and surrounding islands, speared fish, swam with sharks and dolphins, avoided sea snakes and moray eels, and taken free rides on sea turtles. Australia is such a beautiful country. I return to the property where I was born frequently. I have recently found out that I have aboriginal heritage, therefore it is no wonder I find such an affinity with the Australian outback.

 

‘Cold Fear’

Blurb:

Macy Donovan battles a terrifying nightmare to protect her two-year-old daughter, Faith from an intruder, and is knocked  unconscious. When she regains consciousness, her daughter is missing.

As the police widen their futile search, Macy struggles to pick up the pieces of an unimaginable life. Urged to take a break she heads to an isolated cabin with a girlfriend to recuperate so she can continue searching, only to face her worst nightmare— times ten.  

Trapped by a man she believed dead, he demands she play a game.

She runs, he hunts.  There is no place to hide.  

Excerpt:

Cold fear slid down Macy Donovan’s spine. Her chest tightened making it almost impossible to breathe.

Drugged with sleep, she pushed upwards into a sitting position. Darkness filled her bedroom and she reached out to switch on the bedside light before glancing at the clock. It registered four in the morning.

Had she experienced a nightmare? If so, the trembling of her body indicated the dream had been disturbing.  She wiped droplets of perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand. A sudden chill skittered over her skin, sank into her bones. She flicked a nervous gaze toward a white lace curtain billowing in a cool breeze.

A peculiar feeling insisted something wasn’t right, that something terrible had happened. Her nerves set alight, pricked with disturbing unease, and she tossed the sheet aside before springing from the bed to close the window. For long seconds she watched the curtain pirouette like a ballerina under full moonlight, as she tried to recall leaving the window open. She reached out, gave it one hard tug downward and then secured the lock.

Macy turned and walked toward her bedroom door. She stilled, waited for her gaze to adjust to the oppressive darkness filling the hallway before making her way toward her daughter’s bedroom, only to slam to a sudden stop.

A dark menacing shadow clung to the wall ahead outside Faith’s bedroom door. Macy reached out seeking the wall for support as terror like no other grabbed hold of her. Shock immobilised her body.

The image wavered as it moved closer. Large and frightful. The blood in her veins gushed at full speed, tidal waving to her head.

‘You stupid bitch.  It would’ve been safer for you if you stayed asleep.’ The thunderous clap of his voice boomed through the atmosphere.

Shit. Oh hell no.

Her body vibrated, trembled as if she was experiencing a seismic tremor. She opened her mouth but nothing followed, her words smothered by the closing of her throat.

She sucked back a terrified breath, tried once again. ‘What are…you d…?’  Her heartbeat ricocheted off her ribcage at an alarming rate.

Heavy boots sounded over the timber floorboards, echoed throughout the house, and beat in her eardrums, marking out the passing of seconds as he stalked toward her. Her frantic gaze ping ponged the hallway in a panicked search looking for Faith.

She had to coax him away from Faith’s bedroom. She spun around, took one-step but her head jerked backwards in whiplash fashion when he grabbed hold of her dark shoulder length hair.

 

You can find Suzanne here or buy Cold Fear from Amazon.

 

Thursday Threads with DeAnn Smallwood

This week DeAnn Smallwood entertains us with an excerpt from her Sweet, Historical Romance Unconquerable Callie.

The Blurb:

Callie Collins, a proud woman in the late 1800’s is a liar and a darned good one, a master of the dubious art. She is also a dreamer. Her greatest hope is to reach a new life in South Pass City Wyoming, where she can open a bakery and live an independent life. To be successful, she will need her greatest gifts of deception to date. As a woman alone, she has to prove to Seth McCalister, the wagon master, that she has the wherewithal (a wagon and a set of oxen), the stamina to survive months of drought, dust, hardships and even risk of death, and a mythical fiancé who waits at the end of the line. McCallister is uneasy, but also mystified by the audacity and determination of the young woman. He allows her to join the train west. What he doesn’t realize is there is no fiancé. To make matters worse, Callie is in love with Seth McCallister, too. For the first time, the lies that have brought her so far in life threaten to keep her from her one, true love. McCallister is a man of strong character and Callie feels certain that once he realizes her deception, he’ll turn away, ashamed of his love and trust in her.

The Excerpt:

She left the empty dining room and, with shoulders squared, set out for the general store. The town hummed like a beehive of angry bees, streets crowded with wagons of every description, vendors set up on any available space offering any and all items needed for the trip west. If you wanted it, Independence had it. You just had to find the right stall or store.

Callie strolled past each vendor seeing-without-seeing the wares. There would be time to stock her wagon once she had one. She reached for the door to the general store only to have it shoved open from the inside, hitting her with such force she went tumbling backward down the steps. She landed on her rump in the dusty street, hat askew, petticoats up over the top of her fashionable buttoned shoes.

Before she realized what had happened, she was pulled up into strong arms, then flopped over a masculine forearm while a large hand administered rib shaking blows to her back.

“Breathe.” The order came harsh in her ear while he smacked her back again.

“I said breathe, lady.” The stranger shook her.

“Stop,” Callie gasped weakly, head wobbling from side-to-side. “Stop pounding my back and shaking me.” She forced the words out between squeaky intakes of air.

As sudden as the earthquake had started, it stopped. She remained in a tight vise against the man’s chest.

Then he spoke again, his voice full of anger. “What in the hell, begging your pardon, Ma’am, but just what were you doing on the other side of that door?”

Callie pulled her head back and attempted to focus. How dare he! He’d just pushed her down two steps, into a dirty street, showed her petticoats to passersby, knocked the breath out of her, pummeled her back to black and blue, and then berated her for standing in front of a door leading to a place of business.

“You . . .”

“Hush,” he barked. “I hollered to ‘Stand clear’ before throwing open the door. Are you deaf?”

No, she hadn’t heard. She’d been thinking, worrying, about that dratted wagon. Anyway, it certainly wasn’t her fault and as soon as she freed herself of a pair of strong arms and a man smelling of witch hazel and the clean scent of wood smoke, she’d tell him so.

“We were rolling out kegs and barrels. You could have been hurt. I’ve seen some dumb stunts, lady, but standing there with your head in the clouds when someone is trying to prevent an accident, is just, well, it’s just crazy.” With that, he released her and set her firmly on her feet. He brushed off the dust clinging to her dress.

Callie eyed him apprehensively and backed away only to feel the heel of her shoe teeter over the edge of the step. She flailed her arms and would have tumbled back down the steps again if, quick as a snake, he hadn’t reached out and grabbed her.

“Ma’am,’ he growled, “you’d better get home to the safety of your kitchen and not venture out without your husband on your arm. You’re a menace.” And before Callie could put her tongue into action, he picked her up like a doll and firmly set her to one side while he stormed down the steps. He was part of the crowd before she could speak all the unladylike words that were on her lips.

Of all the egotistical males, she had just met the king. How dare he admonish her to home and hearth? How dare he knock her down, brush her off, and scold her in front of everyone? Men. If she ever needed proof she’d done the right thing in seeking independence, there it was. A tall, strong, pigheaded stranger who just happened to have the deepest pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen.

Links:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Unconquerable-Callie-A-Western-Romance-ebook/dp/B00BLWBDF2/

Soul Mate Publishing: http://www.soulmatepublishing.com/Unc... http://www.deannsmallwood.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/DeAnn-Smallwood-also-writing-as-DM-Woods/366637150050917?fref=ts

Other books by DeAnn:

Death Crosses the Finish Line

http://www.amazon.com/Death-Crosses-Finish-Line-ebook/dp/B008G0YXB8/

Sapphire Blue

http://www.amazon.com/Sapphire-Blue-DeAnn-Smallwood/dp/1477811877/

Montana Star

http://www.amazon.com/Montana-Star-De...

Wyoming Heather

http://www.amazon.com/Wyoming-Heather-ebook/dp/B00DCHAV2K/

Tears in the Wind

http://www.amazon.com/Tears-in-the-Wind-ebook/dp/B00AIPZNHC/

Thursday Threads with Collette Cameron

Today I’m featuring the lovely Collette Cameron with her sensual Historical/Regency Romance, The Viscount’s Vow.

Blurb:

Amidst murder and betrayal, destiny and hearts collide when scandal forces a viscount and a gypsy noblewoman to marry in this Regency romance sprinkled with suspense and humor.

Part Romani, part English noblewoman, Evangeline Caruthers is the last woman in England Ian Hamilton, the Viscount Warrick, could ever love—an immoral wanton responsible for his brother’s and father’s deaths. She thinks he’s a foul-tempered blackguard, who after setting out to cause her downfall, finds himself forced to marry her—snared in the trap of his own making.

 When Vangie learns the marriage ceremony itself may have been a ruse, she flees to her gypsy relatives, declaring herself divorced from Ian under Romani law. He pursues her to the gypsy encampment, and when the handsome gypsy king offers to take Ian’s place in Vangie’s bed, jealousy stirs hot and dangerous.

At last, under a balmy starlit sky, Ian and Vangie breech the chasm separating them. Peril lurks though. Ian’s the last in his line, and his stepmother intends to dispose of the newlyweds so her daughter can inherit his estate. Only by trusting each other can they overcome scandal and murderous betrayal.

 “A brilliant tale combining Regency romance with exotic Romani culture.”

Excerpt:

“You didn’t eat much, wife.”

They were alone on the dance floor. Ian deftly twirled Vangie around his aunt’s smallish ballroom, mindful of the interested gazes watching them.

Stealing a glance at the smiling and nodding onlookers, he suppressed a frown. He felt like a curiosity on display at Bullock’s Museum. He wished others would take to the floor, so he could dispense with the devoted bridegroom facade.

The twelve courses at dinner had been torturous. His wife hadn’t taken more than a dozen bites nor said as many words. He’d tried to eat the succulent foods Aunt Edith had gone to such efforts to have prepared, but his anger made everything dry as chalk and every bit as tasteless.

“I’d not much appetite, my lord.”

He chuckled. “Don’t you think you might address me by my given name, wife?”

“Why?” she asked pertly. “I’ve known you but four days, certainly not long enough to be so familiar with you.”

He lowered his head, breathing in her ear, very aware every eye in the room was trained on them. He’d give them something to gossip about. “Because I want you to, wife, and you did promise to obey.”

He nipped her ear.

She jumped and a tiny yelp of surprise escaped before she clamped her lips together. Her eyes were shooting sparks again; only this time they were directed at him.

“What’s my name, wife?”

“Please, don’t call me that. I too have a name, as you well know.”

Drawing her closer, her breasts pressing against the breadth of his chest and cresting the edge of her bodice, he murmured, “Indeed, but Evangeline sounds . . . angelic, and we both know you’re no such thing.”

“Pardon?” She stiffened, trying to shove away from him. “I don’t under—”

His head descended again. “Say it, or I’ll trace your ear with my tongue.”

He grinned as her breath hissed from between clenched teeth. She stumbled, her fingers digging into his shoulder and hand. A very becoming flush swept across her face.

“Will you cease?” Her worried gaze careened around the room. “We’re being watched.”

Voice husky, he said, “Say my name, sweeting.”

Giving her a gentle squeeze, he started to dip his head, caressing her elegant neck with his hot breath.

“Ian, your name is Ian,” she gasped breathlessly, twisting her head away.

 

You can contact Collette or find out more about her and her books at her:

Website

Blog

Facebook Fan Page

Facebook Book Page

Twitter

Goodreads

She can also be found on WordPress, Tumblr, LinkedIn, and Google+

Or buy The Viscount’s Vow on Amazon

I hope you enjoyed that snippet.

Sandy