Twinkle (Sugandha) Varshney's Blog, page 196

Savage by S.L. Scott

Title: SavageSeries: The Kingwood Series #1
Author: S.L. ScottGenre: Romantic Suspense/MysteryRelease Date: July 6, 2017


Blurb
From New York Times Bestselling Author, S.L. SCOTT, comes this new and utterly captivating series, The Kingwood Series. With memorable characters and an unforgettable story, you will want to be a part of this new series launch. 
Welcome to the mysterious world of the rich and the damned in this gritty, modern day fairy tale. Two star-crossed lovers will either find their destiny or meet their fate in a world where demons come in the form of familiar faces and pawns aren’t just players, but deadly. 
She was my destiny.

I was her downfall.
We were a match made in hell.
But when we were together, that hell was pure heaven. 
The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew she would pay the price for my sins. I wasn’t much older than she was, but old enough to know better. Old enough to know she would be good for me and I was bad for her. But I pursued her anyway. Back then I had hope that maybe she could change my future.
Maybe together we could change our fate . . .

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Author Bio

Living in the capital of Texas with her family, Scott loves traveling and avocados, beaches, and cooking with her kids. She's obsessed with epic romances and loves a good plot twist. Her favorite color is blue, but she likens it more toward the sky than the emotion. Her home is filled with the welcoming symbol of the pineapple and finds surfing a challenge though she likes to think she's a pro.


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Hit and Run by Emily Minton & Zoey Derrick

Title: Hit & RunAuthors: Emily Minton & Zoey DerrickGenre: Erotic Romance
Cover Design: Cover Crush DesignsRelease Date: August 21, 2017


Blurb
Tryst Hook-upRendezvous No Strings AttachedHit and Run…
Arrogant, self-absorbed, cocky, sexy as hell – what women have to say about Wyatt Armstrong. The CEO, co-founder and technical genius behind the largest security firm in Dallas is any woman’s wet dream. Angry with his brother, he decides to blow off a little steam and have some fun.
A one-night stand, one of his many hit and runs… Screw her and never see her again, right? Right!Taking the reins at Armstrong Security, he has the whole world in his hands. Until he meets his newest employee…
Sexy, confident, smart, a heart of gold – how her closest friends would describe Ella Travers. Newly divorced, the sales guru of the security industry feels beaten and broken, but she’s on her way back to the light. With a new job to celebrate, she takes her best friend’s advice and have a little fun.
A one-night stand, her first ever hit and run… Screw him and never see him again, right? Right! She’s got a new life to start and things are looking brighter. Until she meets her new boss…   
No attachments, no rules. Just sex. Are you game? 

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Emily Minton

USA Today Bestselling author, Emily Minton is a Kentucky native. She is proud to call the Bluegrass State home. She claims she bleeds blue–Wildcat Blue! Emily loves to read and has more books on her kindle than most people could read in a lifetime, but she intends to read every single one. She has published fifteen books, but there are many more floating around in her head.

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Zoey Derrick

Zoey Derrick is a Best Selling Author of Contemporary, Erotic, Erotic Romance and Paranormal Romance from Glendale Arizona. She was once a mortgage underwriter and she now writes full time.
She writes stories as hot as the desert sun itself. It is this passion that drips off of her work, bringing excitement to anyone who enjoys a good and sensual love story.
Not only does she aim to take her readers on an erotic dance that lasts the night, it allows her to empty her mind of stories we all wish were true. Her stories are hopeful yet true to life, skillfully avoiding melodrama and the unrealistic, bringing her gripping Erotica only closer to the heart of those that dare dipping into it.

The intimacy of her fantasies that she shares with her readers is thrilling and encouraging, climactic yet full of suspense. She is a loving mistress, up for anything, of which any reader is doomed to return to again and again.

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Broken Hearts by Micalea Smeltzer

Title: Broken HeartsSeries: Light in the Dark #5Author: Micalea SmeltzerGenre: New Adult
Cover Design: Regina Wamba, Mae I DesignRelease Date: TBA


Blurb

After everything we’ve been through, I thought we could weather any storm.
But this is one thing neither of us ever saw coming.
Jace and Nova have learned to roll with the punches—they’ve had to. The last few years have been bliss-filled and better than they imagined, but they’re ready to take the next step.
The problem?
Life apparently has other plans.
Sometimes you have to fight for what you want, and for Jace and Nova they’ll have to battle this war together, or lose it all in the process.

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Hi. I’m Micalea. Ma-call-e-uh. Weird name, I know. My mom must’ve known I was going to be odd even in the womb. I’ve written a lot of books. Like a lot. Don’t ask me how many, I don’t remember at this point. I have an unhealthy addiction to Diet Coke but I can’t seem to break the habit. I listen to way too much music and hedgehogs have taken over my life. Crazy is the word that best sums up my life, but it’s the good kind of crazy and I wouldn’t change it for anything.


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Taken by Elena M. Reyes & N.

Title: TakenSeries: Voyeur #1Authors: Elena M. Reyes & N. Isabelle BlancoGenre: Dark Erotic RomanceRelease Date: May 24, 2017


Blurb
I was drugged.Now, I've woken up in a dark, luscious room.A deviant playground.I'm not alone.The person that was drugged and taken with me is here, too.My confidant.Someone that I had come to see as a brother.My best friend.Suddenly, there's a voice coming through the speakers, telling us we've both been chosen to die.The only way out? Do everything we're told to do.This person wants to watch us. They want to be entertained. As she says, "I want to see you come."It's simple: either we f*ck, or die.

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Sweat beads at my brow as the breath whooshes out of me.  I’m bent over, arms dangling down. Beneath me, the most delicious, hardest length I’ve ever felt presses into my mound. I want to rock against it.I can’t move.He won’t let me.He keeps me like this, draped over his lap, immobile.The sound of a strike reverberates throughout the room, but silence remains. No noise. It isn’t allowed.Moisture drips from my every pore, and yet, I’m focused on this one drop as it gathers at the center of my forehead. Becomes bigger.Everything’s out of control.Crazed.Hyper-awareness consumes my every breath.I count to ten and it falls to the ground.A small splat no one will ever hear. And yet, I do. The sound as it hits the floor causes my breathing to stutter and skin to prickle with goose bumps.“The last ten, love,” Noah whispers, his hand massaging the heated flesh beneath his fingertips. It hurts, but the pain is replaced by a yearning so strong that I whimper in his lap.Like a bitch in heat I arch and ask for more.His touch.His desire.To make this burning within my veins stop.With one hand he gathers the hair at my nape and forces my head back. A harsh tug—I’m in his control—forces my eyes to his. Hooded dark blue eyes look at me with concern, but behind their depths I see another emotion burning.Lust.His want mirrors my own. This perversion is awakening something darker from within. It grows—chokes us, because behind it all we were meant to end up like this. My body at his hands. In his control.Those hungry eyes look at me. Silent communication. Are you okay?I blink back a please and the asshole smirks. Aware of what I need even as my mind fights the sins I have laid bare to his eyes.My release is so close. A fresh round of arousal drips from my core and onto his boxers.I’m positioned over his lap, ass up, and the very tip of his cock is against my hip. He’s hard. Jerks against me when I gyrate against his length.“Please,” I beg aloud this time and his hold on my hair tightens. The hand kneading my ass cheek spreads me open to look at my depravity. At what his own hands have caused.That thong, that minuscule piece of fabric, can’t hide what this game is doing to me. The evidence, slick and inviting, is on his lap.I shift against his cock and he hisses. “Be still!”A crackle follows his command and we both shiver. Each time it appears, things change, become more.Dangerous.Frantic.Wicked.“Very good my pets, but the audience wants more. Lose the panties, but without her standing up. Be creative, and there will be a reward.”I exhale shakily. “Do it.”“Are you sure?” As the word leave his lips, those same fingers that a minute ago exposed me to his eyes, now hold my panties in his grip. He doesn’t wait for a reply.  A tug follows his question, the sound of fabric stretching meets my ears, and I nod.Another pull and I feel every welt that forms on my skin from the rough treatment. The sole sounds in the room are his harsh breathing and mine. Loud exertion, but at the same time desperate for more.What else could I say? No. Please don’t?It would’ve been a bullshit lie and we both know it. The voice commands and we follow. It asks and we accept our fate.There’s a sick part of me that relishes in this madness. Craves him. My Noah.We have been dealt our cards; there is no escape. We must accept our fate. 
Either we fuck each other, or we die.





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Elena M. Reyes

Elena M. Reyes was born and raised in Miami Florida. She is the epitome of a Floridian and if she could live in her beloved flip-flops, she would.
As a small child, she was always intrigued with all forms of art—whether it was dancing to island rhythms, or painting with any medium she could get her hands on. Her first taste of writing came to her during her fifth grade year when her class was prompted to participate in the D. A. R. E. Program and write an essay on what they’d learned.
Her passion for reading over the years has amassed her with hours of pleasure. It wasn't until she stumbled upon fanfiction that her thirst to write overtook her world. She now resides in Central Florida with her husband and son, spending all her down time letting her creativity flow and letting her characters grow.
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N. Isabelle Blanco

N. Isabelle Blanco is the Amazon Bestselling Author of the Allure Series, the Need Series with K.I. Lynn, and many others. At the age of three, due to an odd fascination with studying her mother’s handwriting, she began to read and write. By the time she’d reached kindergarten, she had an extensive vocabulary and her obsession with words began to bleed into every aspect of her life.
That is, until coffee came a long and took over everything else.
Nowadays, N. spends most of her days surviving the crazy New York rush and arguing with her characters every ten minutes or so, all in the hopes of one day getting them under control.
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Escape Clause By Mary Billiter

Title: Escape ClauseAuthor: Mary BilliterGenre: Romantic ComedyRelease Date: June 24, 2017Publisher: Hot Tree PublisherCover Designer: Claire Smith
ON SALE FOR $2.99Amazon: http://amzn.to/2pocjXR
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Sometimes to escape a bad situation, you have to grit your teeth and bare your clause. 
When competing hotel owners, the Carlyles, attempt a takeover of the former Brubaker hotel, now The Point Resort and also Kelsey Donigan’s second home, the front desk manager discovers long buried secrets between the two families. Better yet, she uncovers an escape clause that not only prevents a takeover, but may also overtake generations of animosity between the two families.
Kelsey finds an ally in the most unlikely of locals. Hotel heir Oliver Carlyle’s devotion and determination to honor his mother’s final wishes places him in direct opposition with his powerful family.
Can the star-crossed couple save the historic, beachfront hotel or will they lose each other in the process?
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“What’d they do?”“They cleverly took on the shapes of a pair of fish and jumped in the river to escape the evil giant.”“Oh.” It felt like all the air had been knocked from my lungs, and my heart plummeted to my empty stomach. I turned and gazed at the stars.“What? Don’t you like it?”Tears stung my eyes. I swallowed hard, but my emotions refused to be suppressed.“Kelsey?”I raised my shoulders to my ears. “If they became fish, then he would’ve swam away from her.” A tear fell before I could wipe it away. “Venus saved her son, but then she probably lost him. And I understand that a mom would do anything for her child, but I don’t like a story that ends with them separated. Or worse.” I thought of Charlie. What would I do if I lost him? The pain cut so deep it hurt to breathe. I would do anything to save my child, including moving hundreds of miles away from my home.The look on Ollie’s face could only be described as shocked.“I’m sorry, I’m being stupid.” I wiped my eyes on the shoulder of my shirt.“No, you’re not stupid.” He reached into the pocket of his pants and handed me a pressed white handkerchief. “Here.”I took it and looked at him in disbelief. “I didn’t think anyone carried handkerchiefs anymore. My granddaddy did, but….”“It’s a Carlyle thing. You know, family tradition and all. It’s proper etiquette to carry a handkerchief, but I’ve never appreciated the custom until now.”“You’re my knight with a clean hankie.” I giggled and blew my nose. I was about to hand it back to him, but stopped. “Uh, you probably don’t want this back.” I cringed.“I have an entire drawer full of them. Keep it. It’s yours. Consider it a souvenir of our night.”I smiled. “Thank you.” I tucked the hankie in my pocket, but I couldn’t erase the thought of being separated from my little man. The fear pulled at my heart in a way only a love for a child could evoke. Charlie was my everything. Tears welled again in my eyes.He reached for my hand. “Kelsey, it’s okay. The story’s not over yet.”“Really?”He wiped away a tear. “Promise. Venus and Cupid swam away to safety, but legend speaks of the tails of the fish being tied together with a gold cord, to avoid losing each other.”I pulled out his handkerchief to dry my eyes. “Really? They’re tied together.”“Yes, absolutely. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

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Do Not Disturb
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Mary Billiter is a weekly newspaper columnist and fiction author. She also has novels published under the pen name, “Pumpkin Spice.”

Mary resides in the Cowboy State with her unabashedly bald husband, her four amazing children, two fantastic step-kids, and their runaway dog. She does her best writing (in her head) on her daily runs in wild, romantic, beautiful Wyoming.


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A Promise of Fireflies

Women’s Fiction/RomanceDate Published: January 2016

Questions never asked don’t always remain unanswered.
A blood-stained journal holds the answers to secrets her mother took to the grave, but an enigmatic old man knows the answers–truths she never expected.
Another round of turmoil isn’t on her agenda, but when Ryleigh Collins discovers a blood-stained journal among her deceased mother’s belongings, her curiosity leads her to a puzzling Mark Twain look-alike who shatters her family history–and her sense of belonging.
Bearing a treasure chest of secrets and a deeply scarred heart, Ryleigh returns home to her ex-husband’s appeal to take him back. Overwhelmed, she seeks refuge in the quiet majesty of the Rocky Mountains. But as the snow deepens, so do her feelings for Logan Cavanaugh, the distinctly reserved resort owner.
Two lost souls collide in a paralyzing snowstorm, but when the skies clear, Logan surrenders to a deepening guilt he can’t fight. Ryleigh’s sense of abandonment is further compromised with his sudden departure, though she refuses to believe they’ve left their shared memories frozen in the mountains of Colorado.
She’s struggling with shocking truths while trying to move on; he’s caught in a crossfire of a battle he doesn’t know how to fight.
One woman. Three promises–one honored, one broken, one pledged.


Other books in the Whisper of the Pines Series:



Whisper of the Pines, Companion NovelPublisher: Four Carat PressPublished: March 2016
Their paths never crossed, but their destiny is bound by blood.
Strangers separated by forty years and a bloody war, their only bond is a name engraved on The Wall. He walked in the shadow of fate. She stepped into the shadow of love.
A restless intimacy followed Ryan through the jungles of Vietnam, the fear, loneliness, and death camouflaged by the beauty of a country twelve thousand miles from home. He walked courageously toward his destiny and left his legacy—words written in a bloodstained journal—for the woman he loved and their infant daughter.
Encouraged by an enigmatic old man who sends her a journal identical to her father’s, Ryleigh composes her words when a second chance at love is cut short by ghosts from the past. No blood stains her journal, only the souvenirs of a broken heart.



Whisper of the Pines, Book 2Publisher: Four Carat PressPublished: December 2016
What if the price of your wish is living without it?
Rachel Gowen wishes for nothing more than to escape the past decade—to safely lock away the memories that keep her from a future she can only dream about. But a Native American butterfly legend, Ambrose, a mysterious stranger who knows things he can’t possibly know, a cast of quirky characters long past their prime, and Nico, a tenacious and caring nursing assistant, plunge her down a path that will ignite the very memories she’s desperate to escape.
Rachel begins her new life as a nurse in a retirement facility. After all, how risky can it be working with the elderly? She quickly forms deep attachments to her patients, helping them in ways far beyond her duties. And when a casual stroll turns into a budding relationship with Ben, the handsome British doctor who’s too busy, too unromantic, and too distant—it may be exactly what she’s looking for.
But Rachel can’t conform to the rules. Nor can she deny the connection she shares with Nico. With her job in jeopardy, Rachel’s priorities and relationship with Ben are challenged. But one thing is certain—Ambrose knows the wishes she sent on the wings of the butterflies will be granted, but the price she’ll pay will upend her life.
Rachel is promised a thousand butterfly wishes—but all she wants is one.


Excerpt
Dreams die every daySome drown in the endless churn of a washing machine,some get lost under an avalanche of responsibilitiesand still others suffocate in the wake of a broken promise.Dreams die—disappearing with the sun in the western sky.But a sprig of grass will sprout from a blanket of snow,new life will be born when two become one,and a phoenix will rise from the ashes left behind.Dreams reborn—blooming with dawn’s radiant new light.~sh~Chapter OneSCARRED CORNERS FRAMED the small journal she pulled from the old shoebox. Shetraced the cover with one finger, dark stains and pebbled leather disquieting, yet as oddlyfamiliar as the stale odor of cigarettes her mother promised to quit smoking and never did. Nowthe tenuous reminder, void of the peppermints her mother nursed to disguise the smell,threatened to unravel the tethers holding her together.God, how she wished she could rewrite the last year.With her legs crossed beneath her, Ryleigh Collins clutched the journal to her chest,leaned against the wall of her mother’s apartment—as empty of her possessions as the world wasof her—and let the shadows of the waning morning swallow her.“I can’t do this.” She grabbed a loose thread in the denim stretched over her knees andyanked hard.Two feet bundled in thick navy blue socks appeared in front of her. “Can’t do what?”Ryleigh raised her eyes, moist with remembrance.“Ah.” Natalie crossed her feet, lowered herself with the grace of a toned dancer, andplaced a firm, yet gentle hand on Ryleigh’s arm. “The personal stuff’s the hardest.”After a pause, Ryleigh tucked the knot of emotions neatly back where they belonged andturned. “I’m such a wimp.”“You’ll get through this.” Natalie Jo Burstyn’s perfectly manicured brows knittedtogether in a scowl that masked her usual playful grin. “I intend to see you do.”The lump in her throat strangled the words she’d rehearsed since Natalie had offered todrop everything to help. Of course she would. Her meddling best friend always seemed to knowexactly what to do. Or say. She grasped Natalie’s hand and squeezed.Sometimes words got in the way.Ryleigh released a long breath and straightened her legs. The journal tumbled to her lap.“What’s that?”She swiped a hand across the journal’s cover and then wiped them on her jeans. “An oldjournal,” Ryleigh said, brushing away the dusty handprint.“Don’t just sit there fondling it, open it.”The binding creaked. Timeworn pages fanned in a graceful arch as if her touch hadresurrected them. Faded ink swirled across the unlined parchment, and the musty balm of oldpaper and ink tapped at a recollection, distant and unformed, yet ripe for picking—but couldn’tpluck it from her memory. Smudged and watermarked, the words danced across the aged pages.She turned each one with care.Nat leaned in. “Well?”Ryleigh frowned. “Looks like a collection of poetry.”“I didn’t know your mom wrote poetry.”“This isn’t her handwriting,” Ryleigh responded without thought, “and my mother neverwrote anything more literary than a grocery list.”Natalie peered over her shoulder. “Then whose?”“Don’t know. Just an ‘R’ at the end of the entries.” The pages crackled as Ryleigh turnedeach one. “And the year. ’66. ’67 on some.” A shiver feathered its way from her neck to the tipsof her fingers.“Want to read it?” The familiar weight of Nat’s head settled on her shoulder. “Like oldtimes?”She’d never considered not sharing something with Nat and quickly harnessed theprickling urge to slam the book shut to prying eyes.Careful not to damage the pages, she smoothed them flat, the tickle of selfishnessnibbling at her consistent, rational side. As she scanned the pages, she muttered lines at random,the only autograph the watermarked scars of blurred ink. “The air is thick, gray ashen snow, theghost returns, its presence unfought.” She flipped the page. “Fireflies flicker against azure skies,frolicking hither in reverent riverdance.” The weight against her shoulder anchored a covey oftroublesome thoughts, but Ryleigh continued to pluck lines from the pages. “Sodden showers ofinfected rain, across crystal skies littered with fire.” She dragged a finger across an eyebrow.“Intriguing.”“You’re mumbling.”“They dance to their reticent song.”Natalie frowned. “Who?”“Fireflies.” She tapped the page with her index finger. “One of the poems is aboutfireflies. I wonder if they’re really like that.”“Seriously?”Ryleigh tucked a strand of hair behind an ear and closed the book with a finger markingher place. “I’ve never seen one.”“C’mon,” Nat said, crossing her arms. “Kids catch fireflies in jars all the time.”“Not this small-town, sheltered Arizonan.”“Come to think of it, I’ve never seen one since moving here.”“They’re on my bucket list.”Natalie opened and then shut her mouth. “You added to your bucket list without tellingme?”The concentrated effort Nat used to curb her bewilderment caused Ryleigh to forget hergrief for a fleeting moment. “I’ll see one someday,” she said and reopened the book to the lastpage.“Read to me, Riles.” Nat folded her long legs beneath her, anticipation deepening hereyes to warm chocolate. “Like when we were kids.”Ryleigh glanced sideways at her. “I had to explain them to you.”“So?” Nat said, the short word long on sarcasm. “It’s nostalgic.”“Okay.” Ryleigh took a deep breath. “This is the last entry. It’s called ‘Lost.’”“‘I placed my love inside your heartand softly called your name—I placed a hole inside of mineas God’s heavenly angels came.I placed a kiss of golden tearsupon your tiny chest—I placed a rainbow at your doorthe day you came to rest.I placed a single pure white roseupon your tiny feet—I placed my hand against your cheekand said good-bye, my sweet.I placed a gentle autumn breezewithin your tiny space—I placed with you, a piece of meand let you go in God’s embrace.’”~R~’67The words stuck in her throat with painful intensity. Ryleigh dragged her finger over the‘R’—the last letter in the journal. “Forty-three years ago.”Natalie picked at a stray thread in the shredded knee of her True Religion jeans. “I’m notvery good at analyzing poems, but—”“Whoever wrote this lost a baby.” Careful fingers traced the cover, the stained leatherunsettling, yet somehow comforting beneath her touch. Ryleigh’s neck prickled. A tear trembledon the edge of her eye. “I feel like I’m eavesdropping,” she said and closed the book. Sheer willeased the roiling in her stomach.“Sounds like something you’d write.”Ryleigh shook her head. “Cozy articles for The Sentinel on county fairs, care packages toour soldiers, and Mrs. Grayson’s baby quilts don’t count. I haven’t written fiction or poetry inyears.”“You should.”Ryleigh raised the journal. “This is raw passion,” she said, sniffing back the telltale signs ofher emotion. “Emotion stripped naked.”“Your work is like that. Peeking inside the places of your heart no one ever sees.”“Maybe I don’t want anyone to see.”Nat paused, and then wrapped her arm over Ryleigh’s shoulder. “Things will get better. Ipromise.”Nat’s words soothed her, a spoken ointment soothing a fresh wound.* * *The women sat cross-legged in the empty apartment sorting a mish-mash of items. Onescrap at a time, Ryleigh placed the pieces of her mother’s life into neat piles, turning each onefront to back, puzzled at how little she knew about the odd trinkets, mementos, and letterssafeguarded inside worn-out cardboard boxes. With one pile marked “Save” and the other to bediscarded, it occurred to her what a parallel her mother’s passing was to the death sentenceChandler had given their marriage. Nothing remained but the pompous flashbacks of one and ahandful of useless trinkets from the other, and with one flick of the wrist (or philandering penisin Chandler’s case), they are tossed aside with yesterday’s trash. Yet the part that remained—thepart that had wrapped itself around her heart—seemed useless to try to dismiss. Love doesn’tstop with someone’s absence. Sometimes it grew heavier, the ache deeper, until the hurt nolonger gave in to tears.The gravity of grief had exhausted her, and she felt as overused as the boxes that held hermother’s meager belongings. Ryleigh pressed her fingers hard against her temples as if thepressure would numb the ache and quench the niggling urge to leave it all behind and walk away.Yet that wasn’t entirely true—the impulse to run bulldozed past any rational thought.“You okay?”Ryleigh rubbed the back of her neck. “Just tired.” Her hands fell to her lap. “It’s just,”she said with a sigh, “none of this makes any sense.” Ryleigh picked up a patch embroideredwith an open-mouthed eagle’s head and tugged at the broken threads. “Who keeps junk likethis?”Natalie shrugged.“Or this?” She held up a single brass button. “Mom had hundreds of orphaned buttons.Why isn’t this one with the others?”“Don’t know,” Natalie said, straightening, “but I’m curious about the letters.”Ryleigh stilled. “What letters?”Natalie reached for the stack bound with a rubber band. “These,” she said, “postmarkedforty-something years ago with no return address.”Fragments of Eleanor’s life lingered in Ryleigh’s hands—tokens she never bothered toshare. Or had she simply not paid attention when her mother spoke of these things? In either caseit was a moot point: she’d never bothered to ask. And now it was too late.The items were meaningless, but an ambiguous feeling tapped at her like the annoyingclick of a retractable pen. “I don’t want to save this crap, but it feels strange to think aboutthrowing it away. Does that sound weird?” She voiced the question with no expectations of areply.“Of course it does,” Nat said, the usual lilt returning in her tone. She rose and brushed thedust from the backside of her jeans. “But it doesn’t surprise me. You are weird.”“Thanks,” Ryleigh said, reaching for the shoebox. The penciled sketches on the front hadfaded, but the drawing of the stylish low-heeled dress shoes remained intact. Over the years, thecorners had become torn and sloppy and the lid slipped easily free. She placed the items insideand then pressed the lid into place, concealing portions of her mother’s life, remnants absent ofexplanation.An empty feeling swept over her. “Something isn’t right, Nat.” In truth, it felt as if she’dbeen yanked from the pages of a fairy tale and didn’t know how to find her way back.Or if she truly wanted to.“We’re almost done, Riles.” Natalie offered a hand up, her deep brown eyes glisteningwith tiny flecks of copper in the afternoon light. “All that’s left is the desk.”Ryleigh’s shoulders slumped. “I forgot.” She clasped the journal with one hand andgrabbed Natalie’s outstretched hand with the other. Nat had been her rock when she needed asteady hand, yet waggish enough to celebrate the good times with all-out regale. Always there.No matter what. With an achy groan that migrated through every forty-three-year-old bone, sheallowed her best friend to pull her upright.A photograph fell to the floor between them.Ryleigh reached it first. They rose together and turned toward the apartment window,light spilling across the photograph. Yellowed and creased, and deckled edges crimped in severalplaces, it wore the markings of time.“Wait…is that your father?”Ryleigh nodded.“Where’d this come from?”“Must’ve been inside the journal.” She pushed the hair from her eyes. “Why didn’t Momever show this to me?”“Don’t know, but check out your father’s friend. The Kodak is faded, but he’s gorgeous.Killer eyes,” she said, letting loose an exaggerated whistle.Ryleigh flipped the photograph over. “Look at this,” she said, tracing a finger over fadedink, a ghostly impression of time long passed. “Today this may be nothing, but tomorrow it maybe all that’s left.”“An ‘R’ and 1967.” Natalie raised an eyebrow. “Just like the journal.”“I wonder if my father’s friend is still alive? Is he the author?”“Be fun to find out.”“Fat chance. I’m a fair hand at research for inconsequential feature articles for mycolumn, but I’m no sleuth. I can’t find my phone half the time.” Ryleigh slumped. “Or keep trackof a husband and where he’s sleeping. Or with whom.”“Ouch.” Natalie paused, cleared her throat, and then pointed to the photo. “The junglebackground. The dates. This was taken in Vietnam. It’s as good a place as any to start.”Ryleigh tapped the photo three times against her fingers. She worried her bottom lip in aseries of successive tugs and slipped the photograph into the shoebox.Natalie grinned. “Well, Sherlock? Shall we find him

About the Author
Susan Haught–award-winning author and Australian black liquorice addict–lives in Arizona’s Rim Country with her husband and spoiled Shih-Tzu, Mercedes, who believes her princess status earns her the right to sleep on pillows, ride shotgun, and train her peers in the fine art of squeaky toys. Her husband is almost as spoiled and almost as noisy with a proficiency in elk bugling. Susan and her husband have one son.
Susan writes contemporary women’s fiction & romance with the belief that Love is Ageless and has the power to change lives–one step, one touch, one kiss at a time.
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2018 Young Explorer’s Adventure Guide

Middle Grade Science FictionDate to be Published: December 6, 2017

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For Explorers of All Ages!

Tumble forward in time with the fourth collection in the series Kirkus Review called “a must-have in science fiction collections.” These twenty-four imaginative, entertaining tales take readers of all ages to exciting places — from star ships to Mars to alien adventure!

"There are not very many action, adventure, superhero, or sci-fi stories that feature girls, but there needs to be. I have read this whole book and now I have become even more interested in space and robots and things like that." ~ Lily F. (10 years old)
Excerpt from one of the Short StoriesTHE GREAT BROCCOLI WI-FI THEFT by Nancy Kress

Nancy Kress is the author of thirty-three books, including twenty-six novels, four collections of short stories, and three books on writing.  Her work has won six Nebulas, two Hugos, a Sturgeon, and the John W. Campbell Memorial Award.  Most recent works are the Nebula-winning novella “Yesterday’s Kin” (Tachyon, 2014) and THE BEST OF NANCY KRESS (Subterranean, 2015).  Forthcoming in 2017 is TOMORROW’S KIN (Tor), the first novel of a trilogy based on “Yesterday’s Kin” and extending its universe for several generations.  Kress’s work has been translated into Swedish, Danish, French, Italian, German, Spanish, Polish, Croatian, Chinese, Lithuanian, Romanian, Japanese, Korean, Hebrew, Russian, and Klingon, none of which she can read.  In addition to writing, Kress often teaches at various venues around the country and abroad; in 2008 she was the Picador visiting lecturer at the University of Leipzig.  Kress lives in Seattle with her husband, writer Jack Skillingstead, and Cosette, the world’s most spoiled toy poodle.  Do you know what a pas de chat is?  I didn’t either, two months ago.  But I know now, and it’s going to make me a hero.  Really!  Everybody will applaud for me so hard their hands will sting—especially Mom!  They’ll give me a medal!  It’s going to be great!I’m going to solve a mystery that nobody else can solve.Just as soon as I figure out how.#My name is Nia.  I’m ten.  I live sometimes on the moon, at Alpha Base, and sometimes on Earth, in Illinois.  I like both places, but Illinois has a big problem: GRAVITY.  There’s too much of it here.  I wish they could just ship some of this gravity to the moon and even things out a little bit, but it doesn’t work that way.  On the moon there isn’t enough gravity to keep human muscles strong unless you exercise a lot, and I got lazy.  So now I’m back on Earth because my mom’s job moved us here—again!—and my muscles aren’t strong enough.  Which is why I was in ballet class doing a pas de chat.  It was not my idea.“No, no,” said Mademoiselle Janine, who was in charge of the class.  “Nia, you must land lightly.  Lightly!  Ellen, show her the pas de chat.”Ellen smirked at me and raised her arms.  Pas de chat means “step of the cat,” which is a really stupid name because it doesn’t look anything like a cat.  I know—we have a cat.  In the pas de chat you bend one leg, jump off the other leg, bend that one in the air, then land lightly.  If you can find a cat that can do that, I’ll give you a million dollars.Ellen did the step.  She landed lightly. “Now you try, Nia,” Mademoiselle said.I landed like a baby elephant.“Well…” said Mademoiselle.  “These things take practice.”Did I mention that ballet class was definitely not my idea?#“I want to quit ballet,” I said at dinner.  “I’m no good at ballet.”Dad said, “You’re probably better than you think.”  Dad is always on my side.Mom said, “You might not be good at it, but you can’t go on quitting things when they get hard.”  Mom is always on the side of doing hard things.“But I stink at ballet,” I said.  I pushed my mashed potatoes around with my fork.  “I’m not good at anything.”“That’s not true,” Dad said.  “You’re good at a lot of things.”I said, “Name three!”“Well…you’re good at spelling.”“Nobody needs to spell good.  Autocorrect fixes it.”Mom said, “Nobody needs to spell well.  ‘Well,’ not ‘good.’”“See?” I said.  “I’m not good at sentences, either! I’m not good at anything!”“Yes, you are,” Dad said.  “You’re good at training our pets.”That was true.  We have a dog named Bandit, a robot-dog named Luna, and a cat named Pickles.  I trained Bandit to fetch.  I programmed Luna, which is the closest you can get to training a robot.  I couldn’t train Pickles to do anything, but…cats.  They do what they want.I said, “That’s only two things.”Mom smiled.  “You’re good at getting into trouble.”Dad said warningly, “Angela…”“I’m teasing!  Nia, I just wanted to make you laugh!”I wasn’t laughing.  Mom never understands!But then she said, “Look, Nia, everybody has to practice and work hard in order to get good at something.  Do you know how many times my broccoli has failed?”Mom is a plant geneticist.  That means she changes plants’ genes to make them better.  Right now she’s changing broccoli, which in my opinion can’t ever be made better no matter what you do to it.  I hate broccoli.  She was just making me feel worse.She knew it, too, because she put her hand on mine and said, “Nia, honey, after dinner let me show you something.”I said, “As long as it’s not broccoli.”To be continued in the 2018 Young Explorer’s Adventure Guide!

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Take Your Time By Julie Johnson

Title: Take Your Time (A Boston Love Story)
Author: Julie Johnson 
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Release Date: June 11, 2017
Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC. 




Delilah Sinclair has a certain reputation.

Maybe it's the way she walks (in skyscraper designer heels) or the way she talks (in total absence of a filter) or simply the shade of her hair (strawberry blonde). Maybe it's the string of broken hearts she's left across the city of Boston. (Sorry, boys.)

For Lila, catching a man's attention is never a struggle. It's the part that comes later – the happily-ever-after part – that always seems to trip her up. All her friends may be settling down, but this fiery redhead has no intentions of ever being tamed…

Until she meets a man just as wild.

Luca "Blaze" Buchanan is the best fighter to come out of Boston in years. Men want to be him, women want to be with him, and no one smart ever bets against him. He's more savage than knight-in-shining-armor, but that suits him just fine: he has no plans to ever allow a woman to domesticate him.

That is, until a certain sultry redhead finds herself in need of salvation. In the midst of sudden danger, their slow-burning attraction sparks into something far hotter… an inferno neither of them knows how to put out.

One thing is indisputable: no one is walking away without getting singed...


** TAKE YOUR TIME is a full-length contemporary romance about a girl determined not to settle… and the alpha who tears her careful plans into pieces. It is the fourth installment of the internationally bestselling BOSTON LOVE STORY series and can be read as a complete standalone. Due to sexy scenes, a sassy, red-headed heroine, and a bossy, unbearably sexy hero, it is recommended for readers ages 17 and up. **



 
My fingers still shake as I punch in the digits, one after another, trying to think of something cute or clever to say as the call connects.
Heeeeey, what’s up? You’ll never guess where I am…
I listen to the rings — one, two, three jarring peals — and begin to think he’s not going to answer. It’s late, well after midnight… he’s probably sleeping… or his phone is on silent… or he’ll think it’s a mis-dial…

“Talk.”

His voice is deeper than usual, as if I’ve woken him, but I’d recognize that trademark growl anywhere. It’s him.

I open my mouth to say something… and find I cannot formulate one single, non-idiotic word. My tongue quite literally refuses to cooperate.
“Hello?” He waits a beat, listening to me breathe. “Who is this?”

I hear a rustling sound — skin against sheets —and an entirely NSFW image shoots into my brain.

Does he sleep naked?
“Last chance,” he grumbles, impatient as ever.

Crap con queso.He’s going to disconnect.

“Wait!” I squeak in a small voice that makes me sound like I’ve swallowed a balloon animal. “Please, just… don’t hang up.”
Utter silence blasts across the line. I hold my breath, afraid to squeak out another word, completely at a loss as to what I’m going to say next. To my everlasting regret, before I can think of a dignified way to explain my current situation, he speaks again. And when he does, that sleepy edge is gone from his voice. It’s been replaced with something that sounds a lot like amusement and… gloating.

“That you, Delilah?”

My jaw clenches. “Don’t call me that.”“So, she finally uses my number. If I’d known all it would take to get your attention was a sharpie, I might’ve done this months ago.” A low chuckle hits my ear, and I squirm a little. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I grip the receiver a little tighter, wishing I could reach through the line and punch him.

“If you’re hoping for a bootycall…” He pauses pointedly. “I can be at your place in twenty.”

“Oh, dream on,” I snap, indignant at the suggestion. (As if I hadn’t been picturing him naked approximately twenty-seven seconds ago.)
“I was dreaming,” he reminds me. “You just woke me. And it was a good dream. Amy Adams was in it. So, unless you’re about to make a point, I suggest you let me get back to her.”
I roll my eyes. “Well?” he prompts. “What’s it gonna be?”

“I…” My teeth chew my bottom lip. “I… sort of… need your help.”

He goes silent for a beat, contemplating that. “Gonna need a few more details, babe.”

I hedge. “Well, see, I’m in a bit of a jam. I’m sort of… stranded.” My voice drops. “And… I didn’t have anyone else to call.”

I can’t see him, obviously, but there’s a tangible change in his demeanor, evident even across a phone line.

“Are you safe?” His voice is abruptly serious. In less than two seconds, he’s shifted gears from teasing to intense. It’s disarming.

“Yes,” I murmur. “I’m safe.”
I hear crinkling sounds — him, pulling on clothes. “Will you be able to stay safe until I get there?”
“Yes,” I assure him, feeling like the grandest of fools. “I’m fine. Phone-less, but fine. Honestly…” I swallow hard. “Listen, you don’t have to come. I just need you to get in touch with Phoebe for me, she won’t mind…”

“Not a chance. I’m coming.”

My eyes widen. “You’re not going to ask me any questions?”

He barely hesitates. “Babe. You called me, a man you usually refuse to give the time of day, in middle of the damn night, sounding scared instead of like your usual sassy, full-of-shit self—”

I roll my eyes, at that.
“—and you tell me you’re in trouble. I know you said you’re safe, but I also know you’re in more than a bit of a jam if you had to resort to calling me.” He pauses. “Furthermore, I know I’m gonna be the one who helps you.”

My mouth parches. “But Phoebe really won’t mind. In fact, she kind of owes me—”
He cuts me off, sounding even more growly than usual. “Address.”I blink in surprise. “Phoebe’s address?”

“No.” I hear a door slam closed through the receiver. “I’m already on my way. Tell me where I’m headed.”
Bossy, arrogant, stubborn man.
My hold tightens on the receiver. “I could be in Tibet, for all you know.”

There’s a beat of stony silence. “Are you in Tibet?”

I sigh. “No.”

“Delilah.” An engine rumbles to life. “Address. Now.
“Mattapan,” I mumble, wincing. “At… the county jail.”

He pauses, digesting that tidbit, and when he speaks again, his voice is almost… soft. For some reason, that unnerves me far more than his growls or grumbles or gloating comments.

“Hold tight. I’ll be there in thirty.”

The line goes dead as he clicks off.

Crap with a side of extra fries.
If you’d told me twenty-four hours ago that Luca Buchanan, Boston’s most badass MMA fighter, would be on his way to bail me out of jail… I’d have laughed in your face. Now, all I can do is set the handset in its cradle with a dull click, lean back against the gunmetal gray precinct wall, and wonder what the ever-flipping heck I’m going to do when he gets here.
Especially given the last time I saw him…




Hey There Delilah by The Plain White T’sDollhouse by Melanie MartinezTake Your Time by Sam HuntStyle by Taylor SwiftFire and the Flood by Vance JoySay You Won’t Let Go by James ArthurHeart Hope by Oh WonderBreathe Again by Sara BareillesLitost by X AmbassadorsBetween the Night, Between the Day by Rosi GolanOceans by SeafretWe Are Man and Wife by Michelle FeatherstoneOne and Only by AdeleWhite Blood by Oh WonderHold On by Chord Overstreet
    
JULIE JOHNSON is a twenty-something Boston native suffering from an extreme case of Peter Pan Syndrome. When she's not writing, Julie can most often be found adding stamps to her passport, drinking too much coffee, striving to conquer her Netflix queue, and Instagramming pictures of her dog. (Follow her: @author_julie) 
She published her debut novel LIKE GRAVITY in August 2013, just before her senior year of college, and she's never looked back. Since, she has published five more novels, including the bestselling BOSTON LOVE STORY series. Her books have appeared on Kindle and iTunes Bestseller lists around the world, as well as in AdWeek, Publishers Weekly, and USA Today. 
You can find Julie on Facebook or contact her on her website www.juliejohnsonbooks.com. Sometimes, when she can figure out how Twitter works, she tweets from @AuthorJulie. For major book news and updates, subscribe to Julie's newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bnWtHH





Book #1, NOT YOU IT'S ME

 
  

Book #2, CROSS THE LINE

 
  

Book #3, ONE GOOD REASON





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Clearing the Ice

Sports Romance
Midsummer Madness Sale—or Sunstroke creates crazy ideas! For the first time, you can buy the first two books in Robyn M. Ryan’s Clearing the Ice trilogy for just $1.98 (or $.99 each). This offer is good only July 10-14. Regular price for the set is $6.98 ($2.99 and $3.99). Grab this red hot deal and add some semi-sweet romance to your beach reads!
Amazon Series Page


This Piece of My Heart Published: May, 2016

She wasn’t looking for love.
Struggling to live up to the high expectations of overprotective parents and a hefty family name, Caryn Stevens only wants one Summer of Fun before focusing on finishing her college degree. She knows her destiny: to follow her dad as CEO of his multi-million dollar business. But that plan changes forever one day when she runs into—literally—sexy and single major league hockey player, Andrew Chadwick.
But love came looking for her.
Sparks instantly fly between the two, and Caryn can’t resist his charms as she discovers that Andrew has a reputation of winning – both on and off the ice. One of the most eligible singles in Toronto, Andrew could have any woman he wants, and he’s got Caryn in sights. But, when Caryn’s parents disapprove of the match and threaten to disinherit her and his hockey team trades him to a new city, it make take more than love for the couple to survive this penalty play.
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This Piece of My Soul Published: January 24, 2017

They believe love conquers all.
One of pro-hockey’s golden couples, Andrew and Caryn Chadwick live in the limelight reserved for elite professional athletes. On their second anniversary, Andrew receives an unexpected contract offer to join the Tampa Suns. As they look forward to a new adventure, neither foresees an event that challenges their love and threatens their marriage.
Until it doesn’t. 
A sudden and senseless accident threatens Andrew’s life and inexplicably drives a wedge between the couple. Shattered by the incident, paralyzed by fear that it could happen again, Caryn finds herself at odds with her husband and unable to provide the support he needs—at the time he is most vulnerable.
As their perfect world crumbles, each makes choices that take Andrew and Caryn further apart. Distrust, fears, and secrets construct walls. This Piece of My Soul follows the joint and separate paths the couple navigate as each hopes to rediscover the love that can conquer all.
This Piece of My Soul ends in a cliffhanger. The trilogy will conclude in This Piece of Our Being, anticipated release date Fall 2017
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Excerpt from This Piece of My Soul
After a freak accident nearly takes Andrew’s life, he faces months of rehab. His goal—a complete recovery that will enable him to rejoin the Suns and compete at an elite level again. Caryn, however, fears that this accident wasn’t just a fluke. If it happened once…Caryn decided to surprise Andrew one day when she visited. She’d gotten in the habit of pulling on the same old pair of jeans and whatever shirt was handy. She looked through her closet, finally selecting a brightly flowered dress that matched her mood. She took a little extra care with her makeup and hair, and even added a touch of perfume behind her ears.
Andrew’s surprised expression quickly turned into a warm smile when she entered the room, and he set aside his iPad and held his hand out to her as she walked toward the chair.
“Hello, gorgeous.” He grasped her hand and pulled her toward him. “You look sensational.” She perched on the arm of the chair, the warmth in his eyes spreading through her.
“Good day so far?” She kissed him, a brush across the lips.
“Right now I’d say freaking fantastic. Unless you’re wearing that dress just to torment me.” 
“Not my intent.”
Andrew pulled her onto his lap, his fingers tracing the edge of the bodice. “My favorite dress, you know.”
“I thought you liked it.” Caryn’s stomach contracted expectantly at his touch. Her skin tingled beneath his fingers, and she kissed him gently. His arms closed around her, and Andrew held her tightly as his lips accepted her kiss, quickly deepening it. His hands grazed her skin, and tenderness quickly yielded to passion in a seemingly endless kiss.
Caryn knew her cheeks were flushed when she pulled back to catch her breath. Andrew touched her chin gently, his darkened eyes casting a spell she didn’t want to resist. He started to speak, then changed his mind, and guided her lips toward his again.
They might have forgotten they were in the hospital and allowed their emotions to lead them, finally given in to the desire Caryn knew raged within both of them, but Andrew unexpectedly pulled back. Caryn murmured a protest. He placed a finger gently against her lips, and then looked over her shoulder. She followed his gaze, feeling her cheeks burn when she saw Dan Forster.
“Doctor, your timing is incredible.” Andrew smiled wryly.
“Sorry to interrupt, Chadwick,” Forster retorted. “Busy day or I’d come back later.” 
Caryn stood awkwardly and moved away from the chair, noticing that Andrew’s eyes followed her every movement. She shivered slightly, suddenly cold without his arms around her, every nerve in her body alive to his touch. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, even after he turned his attention to the doctor’s questions. She tried to concentrate on their conversation, but only a few words penetrated the haze of desire.
“I suppose you’ll be asking about putting a lock on that door,” Forster commented as he completed his entry on Andrew’s electronic chart.
Caryn blushed, but Andrew laughed. “Sounds like a good idea to me. When do I get some R&R with my wife?”
“Negotiate that at your own risk. You know the comings and goings of the staff better than I do. You’re making good progress, Andrew. You will move to the Rehab Center in the not-so-distant future.”
“Other than a relocation, how will that change anything?”
“More types of therapy than you are receiving now. We’ll focus on all your sensory systems, push you beyond your comfort zone. I’ll remain your primary doctor.”
“So we could incorporate the plan Pettit outlined?”
“That would serve as the center of your PT program.”
“And to move there, I have to…?”
“Andrew, I need to see significant improvement with your balance, the ability to walk with a cane, and no assistance with your personal needs.”
Caryn watched as Andrew processed this, then nodded with a smile. “I like goals.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed.”
“I especially like goals when I’m scoring them during a game.”
Forster laughed. “Patience, Chadwick.”

Scoring goals in a game. The words literally knocked the wind out of Caryn as her mind flashed back to that night. Andrew diving to block the puck… the instant she knew he’d misjudged the angle, the puck crashing against the side of his head. Caryn turned her head, her heart racing and reached inside her purse. She grabbed the container for her anti-anxiety medicine, and fingered one into her hand while Andrew continued to chat with Forster. Neither appeared to notice as she swallowed it dry, and then Caryn concentrated on taking deep calming breaths. As soon as Dan walked from the room, Caryn stepped to the counter and opened a Diet Coke. 
“Can I get you anything, Drew?”
“I’m good. Headache?”
Caryn looked over her shoulder at him and shrugged. “Just trying to avoid one.” She felt his eyes searching hers, and then he beckoned her to his side. He grasped her waist and pulled her onto his lap.
“You got so pale all of a sudden. Are you okay?”
Caryn shrugged. “Skipped breakfast again. You know how that affects me.” She managed a quiet laugh. I can’t keep burdening him with my fears. He needs positive support, not a whiny, frightened, unsupportive wife. I can deal with my fears later.
“So do I need to send you a text each morning to remind you?” His eyes teased her.
Caryn looked at him with a light laugh. “If you don’t forget.”
“I’ll do my best.” He slipped his hand to her neck and gently massaged her shoulder. If he noticed the tense muscles he didn’t mention it. “Today, you looked so beautiful when you walked in. I just wanted to get up and carry you away.”
She touched his cheek. “You will soon, Andrew.”
“It’s taking forever,” he complained. “I’m tired of this hospital. I can’t even remember what ‘normal’ is anymore.”
“Maybe you could come home for a weekend?” Caryn ventured tentatively.
“Yeah, maybe when Dan releases me to the Rehab Center.”
“How was therapy today? I never had a chance to ask you.”
“For the most part I’m done with the parallel bars. Now I’m working with weights to strengthen my legs and arms, and of course, balance activities.”
Caryn rested her hand on his bicep. “This feels plenty strong to me.” A smile crossed her face. “So you’re going to come home even more ripped than you are now?”
Andrew laughed. “I’m hardly ‘ripped’ as you put it. I’m losing muscle tone and strength every day.”
Caryn ran her hand against his chest, and then playfully lifted his shirt to peer at his abs. “If you say so, Drew.” She lightly outlined the muscles with her fingers. “Enough to get my heart racing. You just keep that shirt on during therapy, understand?”
“How about when I get a massage?”
She knew by his tone that Andrew was teasing. “Just keep it on.” She tried to maintain a straight face, but the look in his eyes caused her to break into giggles. “I love you, Drew,” she managed. “And I don’t want any other woman’s hands on you.”



About the Author

By the time she was an eight-year-old tomboy growing up in the suburbs of Chicago, Robyn M. Ryan definitely knew what she wanted to do when she grew up—play major league baseball or write. She wrote throughout elementary and high school, first composing novels featuring favorite TV and music personalities, and then venturing into sports writing.

Attending UGA’s journalism school launched her career in public relations, which included an internship with the Atlanta Flames NHL hockey team. With the encouragement of a writers group on twitter—WritersThatChat—This Piece of My Heart, a hockey romance, and the first book in Robyn’s series Clearing the Ice was published May 2016. This Piece of My Soul, published January, 2017, continues the series and introduces the Tampa Suns professional hockey team.

Besides writing, Robyn’s passions include following the New York Rangers, NASCAR, and the Atlanta Braves; splitting time between homes in Atlanta and Palm Coast, and visiting Paris as often as possible. Two brilliant Westies rule both homes.

As do many writers, Robyn chooses to write using a pseudonym—hers is a combination of her sons’ names, a contribution from her youngest nephew.

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Truck Stop Tryst By Krissy Daniels

Title: Truck Stop Tryst Author: Krissy Daniels Genre: Contemporary Romance/Romantic Suspense Release Date: July 11, 2017 Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC.




Aida Voltolini. Mob princess with a knife fetish. Pregnant heir to a deadly throne. I couldn’t resist her laugh. I was defenseless against those damn doe eyes. I meant to stay away. But then… she kissed me. Tucker Slade. Country boy with a heart of gold. A beautiful distraction with a dark secret. He was only meant to be a tryst. But then… that kiss. Oh, that kiss.


“I think this friendship thing is going to be fun.” Aida laughed, dabbing antibacterial goo on my lip with a cotton swab. I’d never seen her so animated. It was inspiring, in a perverted way, listening to her babble about dicing onions and slicing skinheads, like they were normal, everyday tasks. “Think I’ll need stitches?” I managed to mumble through my swollen lip. I was seated on her bathroom toilet. Aida scooted between my knees, cupped my jaw and tilted my head up, inspecting the wound below my eye. “It’s iffy. If you don’t mind a kick-ass scar on your pretty mug, I’d say, no, it’s not necessary.” Still holding my face, she studied my mouth. “It’ll scar either way, but your call. It’s clean. I’ve got skin adhesive we could use.” It was hard to focus with her breasts in my face. I dug my nails into my thighs to keep from wrapping my arms around her hips and pulling her closer. “Do what you gotta do, Doc,” I mumbled. She stared down at me with those enormous brown eyes, and swear to Christ, she wanted to kiss me. I wanted her to kiss me. I wanted to taste those lips she’d been licking and biting for the past fifteen minutes. A lip-lock would’ve hurt like hell in my current physical condition, so instead I asked, “Do I want to know why you have skin adhesive at your disposal?” To which she replied, “No.” “You’re good at this.” “What?” she asked, eyes squinty, focused on my face. “Taking care of wounds. You’ve done this a lot?” “More times than I care to count.” “Because you dated fighters?” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Because I’m the daughter of a gangster. There,” she said, stepping back to inspect her work, “good as new. Now, let’s get some ice on that lip, shall we?”
Aside from being an author, Krissy is an avid reader with an unhealthy obsession for dark and dirty romance. She lives in Seattle with her husband, children, and too many four-legged, furry monsters. The only thing she loves more than curling up with a steamy romance novel is cozying up to her desk and writing her own sexy adventures to share with others.



Truck Stop Tango



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