Twinkle (Sugandha) Varshney's Blog, page 240

Helping Helper By TARA C. ALLRED

Romance, Women’s FictionDate Published: 3/23/2017



"He’s not a friend, he’s my husband. And he’s gone.” En route to Salt Lake City, intending to start over, their car breaks down near the struggling mining town of Helper, Utah—and then Tony leaves Kora behind.​Alone, broken and angry, especially that her family was right in their judgment against Tony, Kora decides to stay in Helper and aid in it’s art-centered transformation.​But in working to save her new home, Kora learns first love only happens once.For a second chance at love, a much greater risk is required.



Excerpt

Chapter One    
A cloud of smoke billowed over the hood of the old 1984 Buick causing Kora, after three hours of silence, to finally speak. “Tony! What’s going on?”
“Oh no!” With his long fingers, Tony gripped the steering wheel and leaned forward. The engine went quiet. Suddenly, the car was coasting. Tony steered it to a halt along the dirt shoulder. Smoke poured out above them.
“What is it, Tony?” Past the windshield, Kora stared at the stream of white caught between them and the green mile marker ahead. “Is the car on fire?”
“No,” he said. But there was fear in his tone.  Quickly, he masked it with a calmer assurance. “It’s just overheated.”
The fear transferred to Kora’s voice. “You said you got that fixed!”
With two hours before they reached Salt Lake, and six hours of tension behind them, Tony finally faced her. “I did,” he said calmly. “I replaced the radiator hoses and cap, and it’s fixed.”
She kept her eyes on him, glaring as she pulled her dark blonde hair into a hasty bun. “Then what is it?”
He shrugged, but Kora caught the alarm surfacing in his eyes before he turned to the door.
As soon as he lifted the hood, the full force of steam released itself, tumbling out toward the blue sky.
She opened the passenger door. The hot desert air greeted her. She slipped on her old heavy sandals and approached the hood to find Tony clutching his forehead, his lips moving, hot words streaming out. But when she got close, his speech ceased.
“So what are we going to do?” she asked.
Like a poorly-choreographed dance, he slipped past her, making his way nearly the entire circumference of the car before sliding back into the driver’s seat.
Kora stepped toward the engine, steam hitting her face. She shifted away. Warmth from the sun hit her back. Another step and she watched Tony turning the key in the ignition.
Nothing happened.
Another attempt.
Tony banged his fist against the steering wheel. “No!”
She approached the driver’s side to catch Tony’s cheek spasm. “I’ll walk to the nearest town,” he said. “I think the last sign we passed said it’s five miles ahead.”
“Okay.”
He shifted from the driver’s seat, causing Kora to step back.
“I just got to see how far a garage is.” He marched over to the hood. “Get some help towing this in.”  He released the hood prop, then slammed it shut.
“Does the car need to cool off more?” she asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said gruffly.
“Should I come with?” she tried to sound sweet, but an edge from hours before lingered there.
“Just wait in the car.”
“Its a hundred degrees out here,” the tension was back. “What if I fry?”
A sad smile twisted across Tony’s face. “What do you want me to say? If this town doesn’t have what we need, we might be walking for miles.”
“Then let’s walk.” Kora grabbed her purse and looked back to see Tony studying her thick wooden sandals.
When he looked up at her, his face remained tight. “You sure?”
“Yes!”
He shrugged then turned back to the driver’s door, retrieved the keys, locked the Buick doors, and began their march toward help.
Gravel crunched under Kora’s sandals. With each step, she listened to the shifting of rocks under her small frame. Where most couples gain weight after marriage, often both she and Tony had lost pounds during their six years.
With the back of her hand, she swiped away sweat drops running down her face, only to feel more accumulating at her hairline. The sun’s rays seemed to beat in anger, lashing vengeance on Kora for her unkind words to Tony.
At the start of their journey, she hadn’t meant to be so harsh. But the words had just come, one after the other. Spite building on each beating word. 
Now she watched him walk, his hot boots tromping down on the gravel in front of her. His crunch louder than hers.
“How much further?” she called out to him.
At first there was no response. Then he shrugged.
She shrugged back, sharing hers with no one except the wrath of the sun.
While her feet carried on their rhythmic crunch, Kora looked up in defiance at the sky. Then for a moment, she closed her eyes and let the flaming air greet her face. She sensed the sun challenging her, pushing her until she begged for relief, but she would carry on. Her father had blamed her for such intense commitment, such loyalty inside her. He had seen it as her weakness. She saw it as her strength.
And with that strength, she’d get through this, she’d find a breeze of hope, a sweetness in this life Tony had promised her. A fulfilment that was long overdue.
By the year 2000, which was only four months away, Kora would have the future she wanted, the earnest desires of her heart. 
She opened her eyes to see a pillow of cloud, a bright, white cloud, shifting toward the sun, the promise of temporary relief. Once the sun was covered, she saw the radiant blueness, set against the red desert hills that surrounded them. She also saw the road, the long highway that stretched out into the hills in front of them.
Then she spotted it, a structure, a building of sorts, followed by another. She extended her stride, just as Tony did. The town was coming.
   Soon the green highway sign welcomed them to Helper. And they followed the descending road until Kora spotted Speedy Lou’s, a fast food joint, which although run down, seemed able to offer some form of refreshment.
Tony arrived before her, pausing in front of the entrance, as if Kora’s slow steps had spoken to him. “Do you want to stop here?” he called out.
She hated to admit it, but tears were burning in her eyes. The promise of water, a spot to sit down, a break from a growing blister and the blazing sun, she bit her lip and nodded.  Then she tried to walk the final steps calmly, keeping her face stoic. As soon as she was inside, she collapsed into a nearby booth. With a bit of effort, she dug into a pocket of her jean cutoffs while scanning the menu. “Do you want something?”
He stood near her. “No.”
She dropped a nickel followed by a dollar bill onto the table. It wouldn’t go far, but it was something. “You sure?” she said, looking at her offering with a slight laugh. Then she glanced up, catching his look, a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there in weeks. He added a dollar to the humble pile.
“Yeah. I’ll keep going, see what kind of help’s here.” Then he slipped out the door. But before Kora could manage the strength to stand, the door’s entrance bell rang, and there he was again standing above her.
“Here.” He set down a small stack of folded bills.
“Tony!” Kora found herself laughing at the ten-dollar bill that looked up at her. “I don’t need that much.”
His hand slid over hers, and the touch surprised her, as did the tenderness in his voice. “No. It’s for you. Just don’t go overboard on your hamburger fixings.” Then he kissed her forehead, a gesture he hadn’t made in days, before slipping back out the door.
Kora unfolded the bills to find along with the ten, two fives, and a twenty-dollar bill. She stood up and looked out the window, but he was gone.

About the Author
TARA C. ALLRED is an award-winning author, instructional designer, and educator. She has been recognized as a California Scholar of the Arts for Creative Writing and is a recipient of the Howey awards for Best Adult Book and Best Adult Author. She lives in Utah with her husband.Her other published works include Sanders' Starfish, Unauthored Letters, and The Other Side of Quiet, a 2015 Kindle Book Award Finalist and Whitney Award Winner.To learn more about the author, visit www.taracallred.net.
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Love Hate by Drake Rose

Title: Love HateA Standalone NovellaAuthor: Drake RoseGenre: Erotic Romantic ComedyRelease Date: April 19, 2017


Blurb
Swinger who uses women under the false pretense of a committed, healthy relationship? Check. 
Cocky smile, arrogance out his ass and a multi-million dollar company? Check. 
Best sex of your existence with multiple orgasms? Wait, um, triple check? 
Well okay, I wasn't supposed to check that off because, you see the plan was this...
Sebastian Quinn may be gorgeous, he may be charismatic, but the c*ck sucking emotional terrorist also ruined my life by breaking my roommates heart and leaving me with high rent and no flat screen tv! 
So I did what any logical woman would do. 
I went out to expose him for his swinging ways! And somehow, ended up on his couch, half naked, a day later hired as his personal assistant, and then naked again! 
In his bed. In his life. 
But I know it's not real. I know it's only a matter of time before the real Sebastian Quinn stands up and I'll be ready. I swear, just one more....orgasm. And I'll be ready. 
Or two. Ten. 
And then his ass is mine! 
Author Note: Steamy sex, short doses of pleasure, and always an HEA, your happy hour of books has finally arrived! 

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Drake Rose was a love child. Okay not a legitimate love child but in a way...sort of, you see he was created in my mind. I'm a NYT bestselling author several times over. I love love. Sexy sex. Heart stopping dialogue. Whiskey. And all the things that make books great. My only problem? I'm tired. I want anonymity. I want to write what I want to write when I want to write it and I want to give you what's been inside for so long just waiting to break free--if you want something sexy, shorter than your average novel, with incredible story lines that will have you gasping for breath, I think you've come to the right place. After all, Drake Rose is all about satisfaction, you get yours, I get mine. Take a chance on Drake and I swear he'll make it worth your while...Or my name isn't Mr. Rose, then again it never was, was it?

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Title: Chasing EllieA Chasing Fireflies Standalone S...

Title: Chasing EllieA Chasing Fireflies Standalone Spin OffAuthor: Paige P. HorneGenre: Contemporary Romance
Cover Design: Cassandra Roop @ Pink Ink DesignsRelease Date: May 12, 2017


Blurb
I’m the wild girl whose mom decided she didn’t want to live anymore. I grew up with a daddy who only had half a heart, in a town where everyone knows everyone. I’ve feared love nearly my whole life because I’ve seen first-hand what losing it looks like. It’s ugly, it’s scary and its pain is almost unbearable. When I was nine years old, my daddy told me you’ll only find one true love in this life.

“It’s the rarest but truest love there is, Little Miss. You find it and you never let it go.”

But I didn't share the chief’s feelings. 

Until one summer day when a brown eyed boy with a busted lip and a smirk, showed up in the small town of Green Ridge. Tommy Kingsley started to change everything. The boy from the south side of Chicago taught me that love isn't something to be feared and that it's the only thing that makes everything else worth it. He gave me hope and this story tells you how.

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Paige P. Horne lives in a small town in middle Georgia with her husband and two dogs. She’s always been a lover of words and imagination. When she isn’t waiting tables at her part-time job, she can usually be found typing away on her laptop, coming up with stories that’ll more than likely give you all the feels. She writes from the deepest part of her soul. It’s her passion, and now that she’s started, she’ll never stop. For more info on Paige, follow her on Instagram and Facebook. 


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Hidden in the Vines by Gemma Brocato

Title: Hidden in the VinesSeries: Romancing the Vine #1.5 Author: Gemma Brocato Publisher: Soul Mate PublishingGenre: Contemporary Romance    Release Date: April 19, 2017


Blurb
Growing up in the supersized shadow of a famous mother led Jules Capelli to retreat far from the glamorous lifestyle. She owns and runs Team Vino, a team building operation based in a working vineyard. In the midst of a seminar her high-profile, high-maintenance mother insists Jules hide her among the vines after recent plastic surgery. Keeping the woman hidden will require a monumental effort, especially with two reporters from an entertainment magazine in the class.
Alex Dixon has known from the minute he checked into Team Vino for employer mandated team training, that Jules is hiding something. Learning her secret is key, but he’s more interested in getting to know the appealing woman. Jules’s secret is a great distraction, but once discovered, making sure it remains hidden from his bottom-feeding co-worker is even more of a challenge.
Working together as a team, Jules and Alex discover a mutual attraction and a common goal. Keep the secret, build a team and uncover love among the vines.

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Excerpt
It was the final straw in convincing Jules to avoid any sort of publicity event or exposure. She’d slunk off the red carpet gauntlet, a staple at all premieres, and hid in the ladies’ lounge until the theater had been darkened. She’d slipped into a seat next to Gitta, but crept away before the final credits rolled. Jules hadn’t appeared in public for two weeks, waiting for the next big story to break and draw public attention from the unfortunate episode.She shook off the sour memory and studied the man climbing the stairs to the office. God, he really looked familiar. Unruly, dark blond curls and a strong, square jaw shaved clean of the scruff so many men thought looked sexy. Add piercing blue eyes and firm lips with the best Cupid’s bow she’d ever seen, and he became an all-American heartthrob.Fading bruises under his eyes marred the otherwise perfect picture. Tall and broad shouldered, his face rang a bell for her. But it was an alarm bell. She knew him.Oh Jesus. That’s . . . oh shit, what’s his name?He stopped in the doorway. “Hi. I’m looking for Jules Capelli.” The rich, smooth timbre of his voice reminded her of a television announcer.She hunched her shoulders and dropped onto the chair behind her desk, creating a barrier between them. “That’s me. How may I help you?”Her visitor pulled a wallet from his back pocket as he approached. The action lifted the hem of his shirt, giving her a closer view of his trim waistline. “Access Group International made a reservation for me in your team building seminar.” He handed her a business card he’d fished out of his billfold.“Yes, of course. You’re one of the late add-ons.”Accepting the slip of cardstock, she glanced at the bold logo and bright red lettering on the front. Her heart stopped beating and turned to stone. Actual pain from the boulder sitting on her diaphragm knifed her chest.The card’s bright red lettering declared the man was Alex Dixon. Reporter. With Entertainment Access. A division of AGI.This could not be happening. How had she not known AGI was the parent company of the worst gossip mongering website and tabloid in existence?



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Author Bio

Gemma's favorite desk accessories for many years were a circular wooden token, better known as a 'round tuit,' and a slip of paper from a fortune cookie proclaiming her a lover of words; some day she'd write a book. All it took was a transfer to the United Kingdom, the lovely English springtime, and a huge dose of homesickness to write her first novel. Once it was completed and sent off with a kiss, even the rejections addressed to 'Dear Author' were gratifying.

After returning to America, she spent a number of years as a copywriter, dedicating her skills to making insurance and the agents who sell them sound sexy. Eventually, her full-time job as a writer interfered with her desire to be a writer full-time and she left the world of financial products behind to pursue a vocation as a romance author.


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Bound by Stephie Walls

Title: Bound
Series: Bound Duet #1Author: Stephie WallsGenre: Contemporary RomanceRelease Date: April 19, 2017


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I want to prove my worth, show them what I have.  I may be flawed; we all are.But I'm smart, driven, and ready to take on the world.  No one needs to know the rest.
I wasn't counting on him, couldn't imagine someone like him coming into my life.The blue eyes, the chiseled body, the man I can't resist.Truthfully, I have no plans of ever resisting him. 
He has the carefree, playboy life he wants, The one he created and refuses to give up.But he didn't count on me waltzing in and changing everything.
Gray can't deny his passion for me—all parts of me, Even the truth I try to bury—the flaws he knows I'm hiding.And trust me, he's imperfect too.
But sometimes, we need more than love—more than we can give.

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Stephie Walls is a literary whore - she loves words in all forms and will read anything put in front of her. She has an affinity for British Literature and Romance novels and an overall love of writing. She currently has six novels out, four short stories, and two collections; all provocatively written to elicit your imagination and spice up your world.


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Santino the Eternal By Sam JD Hunt

Paranormal RomanceDate Published:  3/28/2017

Santino the Eternal has never craved the forbidden - until now. As a blood-thirsty serial killer hunts the glitzy streets of Las Vegas, Santino collides with a young college student - can she make it out alive?
Clara Denton’s life is flung into chaos when she discovers a drained corpse in a posh hotel room on the Strip. And as if her life wasn't already spiraling out of control, her reclusive boss has taken a disconcerting interest in her. Unable to resist the dark pull, she is drawn further and further into the murky world of the undead - as well as just the dead, too. When the handsome Matthew Hunter arrives with his sights set on Clara, she is thrown into one final eternal struggle of good versus evil.
Can love truly be eternal?

Excerpt
 “Be free, my darling,” he said to the languid corpse.With the back of his hand, he wiped away the last drops of the precious nectar he’d drained from her fragile veins. “You have served me well.” He watched as the ghost of his young victim fled her empty body.He felt crushing remorse that he’d killed her. Her death was kind, painless, and he needed her blood, he convinced himself as he glanced around the darkened hotel room. The warm fluid rushing through him caused the sensation of a post-orgasmic high—so similar was the feeling that he craved the cigarette he usually only smoked after sex.“No, not here,” he said aloud to himself, his agile fingers placing the pack of cigarettes back into his designer suit coat.The door to the hotel room opened—a swath of light from the hallway burned into his eyes and his hand instinctively reached up to shield himself from it.A young housekeeper burst in, her eyes only glimpsing his form for seconds as he moved from the room with such preternatural swiftness that he was just a mere blur to her mortal eyes.It was several more minutes before his perfected ears heard her scream in terror.
Chapter One“C’mon, baby, don’t run out of gas on me now.”Clara Denton reached over and turned off the air conditioning in her 1986 Ford Escort. The fuel needle, pointed at the letter E, seemed to mock her as she irrationally turned off the radio, as if those minor efforts would have any effect on the amount of gas her old car would burn on her way to work.“One more mile,” she said aloud to the vehicle. “One more mile and I promise to feed you after work. I can’t be late again.”In her worn Fossil hobo purse her last ten dollars sat crumpled. Clara hoped it would provide enough fuel to get her back and forth to school that week as well as to her job cleaning rooms at the newest and classiest hotel on the Las Vegas Strip—the Roman.Her stomach growled as she flashed her employee badge and pulled into the dark parking structure at the rear of the sprawling resort hotel and casino. At the place she’d worked before the employee facilities, those parts the guests didn’t see, were austere. Here, however, even the employee parking garage was glamorous.As she fled the car, terrified of punching in late again, she thought about how she’d never once seen the reclusive owner of the Roman—his name was Marchetti, she couldn’t recall if she knew his first name. She assumed he was Italian, and rumors floated around that he was handsome, in his thirties, but even though he lived in the sprawling penthouse suite, no one she knew had ever seen him.Clara’s first three rooms were easy cleans, and in the second one she was able to nibble on an unopened bag of potato chips—she hadn’t eaten since the night before when her roommate, Landon Miller, brought home scavenged baked ziti from the pizzeria he waited tables at.The fourth room of her shift, however, was the one that changed the course of her life forever. As she flipped on the lights and walked in with her cleaning basket—maids at the upscale Roman weren’t allowed to push carts into the rooms—she saw it. A foot poking out from the crisp white sheet of the king sized bed. “Oh, sorry ma’am, I thought the room was…” She felt a rush of cool air blast past her, maybe even the faint hint of smoke, and then she saw it.The foot protruding from the Italian 800 thread count Frette linens was not an alive foot. It was ghastly white, the red painted toenails a grotesque contrast to the paleness of the skin. A prank, she thought as she approached it, waiting for something to jump out at her. The air in the room changed, became oddly stagnant, as she sheepishly tugged at the sheet. Clara heard herself scream, as if a bystander, as her body crumpled to the floor.“The police,” she finally managed to mutter, as she reached for the phone on the mahogany desk. She stared at the phone, unable to remember how to get an outside line for several moments before deciding instead to press the button that was labeled Emergency.Within minutes, several large men in dark suits blew into the room. One lifted her to her feet and asked if she was okay. As she nodded, he glanced at her nametag and said, “You may have the afternoon off, Clara. Thank you.” He turned to look at the body as the other men donned latex gloves.“Uh, we should call the police. This is the serial killer. It’s got to be another of his victims—you know, the Blood Lust Killer.”The dark suited man in charge flung his body toward hers, his hands braced on his hips. “I believe it’s time for you to go.”“No. You can’t touch anything until Metro comes,” she argued, her voice fighting to sound strong. These men were tampering with a crime scene—her roommate, Landon, when not serving greasy pizza and pints of beer—was in the police academy. Clara had helped him study enough to know these men were breaking the law.“Steven, please escort the former employee from the premises.” He turned to face her once more, and with a sneer said, “We’ll mail your final paycheck. Your services here at the Roman are no longer required.”She stood in shock, unable to process the dramatic turn that afternoon had taken. “You’re firing me?” she finally choked out through her tears. The man never answered her, and she followed him to the central housekeeping department to return her uniform. The dark-suited stoic presence stood outside the changing room and walked her to her car, reminding her that security cameras would watch her exit the grounds of the casino.In her hot car, with guards staring at her, she reached for her cell phone. Despite the glare of the suited Steven approaching her, she dialed 911 and switched it to speaker as she sped down the exit ramp. “Yes, at the Roman,” she clarified to the dispatcher. “Room 80231—she was bloodless! White as a ghost.” She paused as the dispatcher read back the information, then as Clara began to ask about the serial killer her phone went dead. Damnit! Out of minutes!Moments later, she was fighting her way through traffic. “That jerk-off, how dare he fire me,” she hissed into her empty car as she battled the throng of cabs down the small section of Las Vegas Boulevard that was known as the Strip. In shock, fuming and terrified, she barely remembered to make her left on Flamingo when her car started to sputter. “Not the transmission again,” she groaned before her eyes set on the fuel gauge. “Shit!” She covered her mouth with her hand—Clara rarely swore, and when she did, she shocked even herself. “I forgot to get gas!”*****Flamingo was his least favorite place to drive. Stop after stop, he could rarely pick up the kind of speed he craved. When finally he was able to swoop around yet another annoying billboard truck, his designer-shod foot mashed the accelerator down as hard as he could. The Maserati lurched, pressing him back into the buttery leather seats that had been custom made to fit his tall, lean body. And then he nearly ran over her.She fell backward into her battered old car, smashing into the dented frame and falling face down onto the dirty black pavement of Flamingo Road. “Fuck,” he howled, the nimble car coming to a screeching stop as those behind him blew their horns and struggled to maneuver around him. He was able to stop his car at the side of the busy road, in front of the small frame of a young woman lying in the street.“I didn’t hit you, Miss, did I?” He sprang from his car toward her. She’s moving, that’s good, he thought as she placed her palms on the pavement, pushing her lean frame up.“Um, no, I just, I thought you were going to hit me, I jumped and tripped.”“That is a relief,” he sighed. He reached for her hand and helped her to her feet.“I-I’m fine now,” she said with a quick tug of her hand to remove it from his. But he couldn’t let go. He held onto her hand as a sensation so foreign, so odd, washed over him.“Well, thank you for even stopping,” she said with a smile, tugging her hand from his once more. This time he let her soft hand fall from his, but he continued to look into her eyes. They were brown, chocolate brown, he thought. She was young, twenty-one was the number that popped into his head as he stared at her mutely.She ran her hand through her hair as she turned to face her car. “Do you need me to call a car service for you?” he asked as she lifted the rear hatch and pulled out a red gas can. “No, thank you, I’m out of gas. It’s only a few blocks to the station.”“I would never let you do that. Please, I’ll drive you.”She stared at the car—clearly he was a rich businessman, a local, and, she had to admit, breathtakingly handsome. But still, she was no idiot. She wasn’t going to get into his car, or any stranger’s car, with a blood-sucking serial killer roaming Las Vegas murdering young women. “I’m fine, I’ll walk.” She took a few steps and heard him speak again.“No, Miss, you will not. I cannot let you do that.”“Let me?” She spun around and glared at him, empowered by the safety of the heavy traffic swirling around them like angry hornets.He held up his hands in apology. “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. What I meant was it would be ungentlemanly of me. I can call road service, or perhaps go retrieve your gas for you while you wait in the air conditioning of my car?”“I’m sorry to snap. I’ve had a terrible day. I was fired from my job and, well, it’s just been a rough one. I’d rather walk than wait, but thank you.” She set off again, with the man only steps behind her.He caught up to her, his suit coat removed and tossed over one arm in the oppressive heat of summer in Las Vegas. “My name is Santino, by the way, and it is a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances of our introduction,” he said, positioning himself between the heavy street traffic and the young woman. “Miss…?”“Clara Denton,” she answered with a smile. This drop-dead gorgeous rich guy is also a gentleman, she thought as he reached to carry the gas can.At the gas station, his phone buzzed. With a quick glance at it, he looked to Clara. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. I apologize for my rudeness.” She nodded as he walked to the side of the gas station.“Wait until I tell Landon about this guy,” she said under her breath as she walked into the building to prepay for the gas.Walking out, can in hand, the man, Santino, had his back to her. He was talking into his phone. She could hear him as she walked by toward the pumps. “Yes, Don, you did the right thing to have it cleaned. A mess like that in my home I would never tolerate.”Too bad he’s a neat freak, she thought as she pumped the gas into the can, not that it matters.*****An hour later, Clara was back in her apartment digging through her empty refrigerator. “No one ever buys milk,” she said to the empty apartment. The foil pan of leftovers was the only palatable food she could find, so she finished it off while working on her paper for class the next morning. Her third year at UNLV was going well academically—she was a top student in the English Department, but financially she was in trouble. Student loans were piling up, and her passion was literature rather than a career field that would result in a lucrative job. Even if she taught, she knew her living conditions would be austere at best for the next decade.As she looked at the research she’d done on a Word document on her MacBook, a spoonful of greasy baked ziti perched at her lips, there was a knocking at the thin door. “Landon, take your key once in a while,” she shouted toward the door.But Landon was not at the door. As she opened it, four members of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department, or Metro as it was referred to locally, stood there. “Oh come on in,” she said. The police are finally here about the dead body, she thought.“We had a report of a crime from a resident at this address—a Clara Denton. Is that you?”She nodded in relief. “Yeah, that’s me. Is she related to the serial murders?”“She?” The suited detective looked at his notes before making eye contact with Clara again. They followed her inside.“The woman—the dead body I found at work today.”“Miss Denton, there was no body at the Roman. Not at the room number you reported, or any other room. Have you been following news coverage of the killings?”“Well yes, but—wait a minute, there was a body, drained looking, white. The head of security and a few other men saw it, too.”“Miss Denton, I understand the stress you’ve been under. However, calling 911 with a made up story is a serious crime. If we chased every baseless tip we’d be—”“Baseless? I saw her!”“You were fired today, were you not?”“Well, yeah, because I insisted they call the police.”“According to management at the casino, you were fired for being late too many times. As you were leaving the resort premises, you called 911 from your prepaid cellphone and made up a story about finding a body in order to inconvenience the hotel.”Clara shook her head, the blood draining from her face. Was this really happening?*****Santino paced on the priceless rug that graced the polished marble floors of his penthouse suite high atop the Roman. His trusted head of security, Donovan Salerno, sat on the cognac leather wingback chair and glanced over the notes in his small notebook. The afternoon had been stressful, but Don thought he’d done well.“And the maid? She won’t talk? Let’s make her happy,” Santino said as he rubbed his stubbly chin.“Well, sir, we fired her, it was necessary that—”“What the fuck did you just say? You fired her?”Donovan took a deep breath and willed himself to stay calm. The boss was mad—deadly mad. He stood up and explained. “She demanded we call the police. That one, she was too smart. That young chick wasn’t like the Mexican maids that most—”“I swear to God that if you say one ignorant bigoted thing you will regret it for the rest of your short life.” Santino had no tolerance for small-mindedness.“Um, no, it’s just this housekeeper was not going to be deterred from alerting Metro to the mess in your house, sir.”“So now she’s out there, with no loyalty whatsoever to us, no incentive to stay silent. That is a problem, Don.”“Yes, sir. We’ll take care of her. I apologize for letting her go.”“I don’t want her harmed, I merely want her silent. What is her name?”Santino’s pale eyes focused on the man as he stopped his pacing. The words his head of security spoke caused him to grow cold, colder than his usual soulless body.“Clara Denton.”
 About the Author

Sam JD Hunt resides in Las Vegas with her husband, the inspiration for the young Thomas Hunt character, as well as her two children. Her debut trilogy, The Thomas Hunt Series, put a fun and unique spin on the popular BDSM genre. She followed up with the highly successful DEEP: A Captive Tale--a dark BDSM erotic captor/captive story about a pirate and his lady that spans time and space. Her fourth novel, the full-length standalone The Hunt for Eros is an erotic art adventure that combines spicy romance with a cultural adventure based on true life events. It has been described as being like The Da Vinci Code, but with lots of heat added.Hunt's next release was co-written with her husband. Dagger: American Fighter Pilot is a steamy contemporary romance, which follows a squadron of fighter pilots as part of the American Fighter Pilot read-in-any-order series. Following the release of Dagger, Hunt released the much-anticipated MMF/Bi/Ménage erotic adventure, Taken by Two and then its sequel, Torn from Two. Next, Hunt plans to release DEEPER: Capture of the Virgin Bride as a follow-up to DEEP. When not writing, Hunt enjoys travel, community involvement, spending time with friends and family, and hiking. She spends her days writing and trying to answer the age-old question: is it too late for coffee or too early for wine?

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Enchanting the Earl By Lily Maxton

She’s the last thing he expects to find... Title: Enchanting the Earl Author: Lily Maxton Genre: Historical RomanceRelease Date: 17/04/2017Series: The Townsends #1Publisher: Entangled Publishing, Scandalous Llynmore Castle is the only place Annabel Lockhart has ever considered home. For years, she’s been able to live as she wished, freely roaming the wild moors. Now there’s a new earl, as arrogant as he is handsome, and he wants her out. But if he thinks she’ll go quietly, he’s in for a surprise. 
Theo Townsend returned from war a changed man. After unexpectedly inheriting an earldom and a secluded castle in the Scottish Highlands to go with it, he thinks he’s found the perfect place to hide from the world—until he arrives to find a spirited, beautiful woman already in residence. He can’t just throw her out, but surely there's a way to get her to leave on her own. The sooner she's gone, the better, especially when he realizes there’s more than just mutual dislike between them.Amazon: US I UK I AU I CANook I iBooks I Publisher Lily MaxtonTop Ten Songs for All the Feels
As an author, I draw inspiration from a lot of sources and music is a pretty big one. I like to listen to songs before I start writing to ease into a more creative and emotional mindset, whether I’m preparing to write an angsty scene or a joyful one. While my favorite songs change pretty often, these are the top ten I’ve been listening to while working on my current series.
“A 1000 Times”-Hamilton and RostamThis song has angst. It has crooning. It has LONGING. Go listen to it. The whole album (I Had a Dream That You Were Mine) is very good, too.
“Homecoming”-Kanye West feat. Chris Martin“Homecoming” is a love song about a city rather than a person (and please don’t ask me how long it took me to figure out that “Windy” is the “Windy City” and not a girl named Wendy.)  Anyway, it’s a nostalgic tribute, both uplifting and bittersweet. Kanye West has done some epic songs, but this might be my favorite.
“Drive”-HalseyWhen I listen to this, I feel like I’m driving on the highway in the summer with the windows down, and my relationship is falling apart. If you want to feel like that too (and who doesn’t?), go check it out. But seriously, I love Halsey’s voice, and she does a mean love song.
“This Side of Paradise”-Hayley KiyokoThis is a song that creates the perfect atmosphere of dreamy longing. It has a little bit of a dance/80s-type beat (like a lot of Kiyoko’s songs), but it manages to still feel sad and personal and wistful.
“Nature Boy”-Nick CaveNobody does weird-happy love songs like Nick Cave. Nobody. This song just makes me feel joyful, like everything is going to work out fine, and true love really is the most powerful thing in the world.
“Here With Me”-Susie Suh & Robot KochThis song is just lovely. It’s soft, slow, haunting, and infused with longing. Great to listen to to get into an introspective frame of mind.
“Famous Blue Raincoat”-Leonard CohenLeonard Cohen is one of my go-to artists for angst, and this might be the angstiest of them all. Listen to everything on this album (Songs of Love and Hate) if you want to feel a soul-deep sort of sorrow.
“Treasure”-Bruno MarsThis song just makes me feel good. It’s fun and romantic and you can dance to it. Also, you can pretend that Bruno Mars is singing the lyrics directly to you…which everyone does…right?
“Love Story”-Taylor SwiftThis is another that makes me really happy. It’s so cheerful and romantic. Also, it’s Romeo-and-Juliet-themed with a happy ending! How could you not love that?
“Country Feedback”—R.E.M.So, I listened to this song about twenty times when I broke up with my high school boyfriend. (Is that TMI?) Anyway, the lyrics don’t make much sense, but it’s painful and raw and the perfect inspiration for even the most angsty scenes.

Facebook I Website I Twitter I Amazon I NewsletterLily Maxton grew up in the Midwest, reading, writing, and daydreaming amidst cornfields. After graduating with a degree in English, she decided to put her natural inclinations to good use and embark on a career as a writer.
When she’s not working on a new story, she likes to tour old houses, add to her tea stash, and think of reasons to avoid housework.
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Resisting My Submission by Jenna Jacob

[image error] They say first impressions mean everything. Either Maximus “Max” Gunn didn’t get the memo or he didn’t care. The gorgeous, muscle-bound Dominant’s assumption that I, Mistress Sammie, was a submissive set my blood boiling. I wanted to drive the toe of my coveted Louis Vuitton stilettos between his legs—and bring him to his knees. But anger wasn’t the only burning emotion Max ignited inside me. The potent sexual attraction we share threatened to burn me alive, too. Unwilling to cede our Dominance, the battle for control raged like a third world war, both in and out of the dungeon. It would take a coup d'état for love to conquer our drive to command. But when Max learns the secrets of my past, and attempts to heal my scars, I don’t know if I’ll be able to still the battle…or fall willingly to my knees. [image error] AMAZON US I AMAZON UK I iBOOKS I KOBO I NOOK [image error] Amazon US I Amazon UK I B&N I iBooks I Kobo I ARe Amazon US I Amazon UK I B&N I iBooks I Kobo I ARe Amazon US I Amazon UK I B&N I iBooks I Kobo I ARe Amazon US I Amazon UK I B&N I iBooks I Kobo I ARe Amazon US I Amazon UK I B&N I iBooks I Kobo I ARe Amazon US I Amazon UK I B&N I iBooks I Kobo I ARe Amazon US I Amazon UK I B&N I iBooks AMAZON US I AMAZON UK I iBOOKS [image error] USA Today Bestselling Author Jenna Jacob's erotic romance comes from the heart of submission. With over twenty years’ experience in the dynamics of the BDSM lifestyle, Jenna strives to portray Dominance and submission with a passionate and comprehensive voice. Her stories will make you laugh, cry, and may leave you with a better understanding of the fulfillment found in the BDSM power exchange.A married mom of four grown children, Jenna and her husband lives in Kansas. Her passions include her family, reading, camping, cooking, music, and riding Harleys. She loves to make people laugh with her outgoing and warped sense of humor. If you're looking for hot romance with a kinky twist, pick up one of Jenna's books. [image error] [image error] [image error] [image error] [image error]

His Competent Woman By Ellen Whyte

Release BlitzHis Competent WomanEllen WhyteApril 18 2017 30,000 words Complete & StandaloneIn desperate need for money, Emma applies for a job with handsome billionaire Curtis West. She's not really qualified for the job and to make matters worse, she loses her temper during the interview and fudges her credentials. Can she pull it off or will this end in tears?UNIVERSAL BUY LINKChapter One Emma: Bad News And Billionaires     "Ben's a lovely boy," Miss Maddy said brightly. "We're so happy to have him."     “Thank you so much!”     Oh tell her to quit the chitchat and cut to the chase!     That’s my inner devil. I’m patient and cool on the outside, but inside of me there’s this little voice that pipes up and says it how it is. She’s blunt, difficult and honestly, a bit of a slut. Maybe it’s the real me, I don’t know. But whoever that little voice really belongs to, she’s certainly impatient.     While my devil was right, I resisted an impulse to hurry Miss Maddy along. Ben's schoolteacher was dedicated and likeable although somewhat longwinded. Being a teacher is a tough job, and Miss Maddy prefaced every conversation with endless compliments, as if parents weren’t capable of tackling reality without a spoonful of sugar.     “Ben’s kind, generous and very popular.”     "But Ben isn't doing well," I prompted her. "Is he naughty in class? Not listening maybe?"     "He's in my bad books for being too chatty at least twice a week!" Miss Maddy laughed indulgently. "But that's normal for a seven year old, isn't it?"     Come ooooooooooooooooon!     "You asked me to come and see you," I reminded her. "You said it was important?"     When she’d called me, I’d immediately envisioned broken bones or at the very least gushing blood. Once assured on both counts my mind had flown to some hideous disciplinary problem. Thankfully, Ben didn't seem to be in any trouble.     "Ben's not doing well on his reading," Miss Maddy was finally getting to the point. "His writing is poor too."     Okay, so my stomach plummeted at that. "He's young. I thought boys are slower to develop than girls?"     "I think he may be dyslexic," Miss Maddy confided. "I'm not a psychologist, Mrs Reed, but he does seem confused about certain his words and letters. I think we should have him tested."     Now I could barely breathe either. "Dyslexic? But that's serious, isn't it?"     "Well, it makes school a bit more of a challenge but with support most children cope very well."     “I’ll make an appointment with the doctor.”     “I’m afraid that won’t work,” Miss Maddy said carefully. “Dyslexia isn’t covered.”     Hell, hell, hell!      If it wasn’t covered by the National Health Service, it meant private doctors. That meant money, and I didn’t have a bean. “Can you test him?” My voice was totally Mini Mouse, squeakily hoping against hope.     “I’m afraid not.” Miss Maddy handed over a leaflet. "It takes a qualified psychologist. There’s a list here to help you out.”     “They’re going to be expensive and I'm broke!"     "I'm so sorry." Miss Maddy looked away, knowing it was bad news. "You're a widow, isn't that so?"     "Yes." Dear Graham. Gone seven years now.     "He died in Iraq?" Miss Maddy asked delicately. "Erm, during the war?"     "Actually, he was run over." It still made me sad just thinking of it. "It was an accident."     A stupid, stupid accident. A young man, a car thief, had made off with an army jeep parked at the Baghdad market. He'd jumped in, taken off and rocketed into Graham just twenty feet later. Killed instantly, Graham’s friends assured me afterwards. Graham hadn’t suffered at all, thank heaven.     The driver had joined him shortly after. The mob had beaten him so badly that he'd died on the spot. It was no consolation. I didn't find it a comfort that two families had grieved instead of one. Still don’t actually.     "Very tragic," Miss Maddy said sympathetically. “Look, there are some charities that help out. It’s all in the leaflet.”     “Oh, thank God!”     “But it can take months to make an appointment,” Miss Maddy cautioned me. “And it may not be in Oxford, so you may want to save for the trip.”     Oh lord, it’s going to take us months, my inner devil moaned.     Miss Maddy cleared her throat, piling on bad news, "I'm afraid that if Ben is dyslexic, he will need some support."     Support. Crap, crap, crap. That meant specialist training, extra classes, and that meant more bills. My stomach pitched and rolled with fright. As if I weren’t already struggling to make ends meet.     Parenting Ben on my own made working a regular job extremely challenging. Few businesses tolerate staff starting at 9am and dashing off at 3pm - never mind sick days and school holidays.     I hadn’t been able to find a decent job, full time or part time, either. After applying to hundreds of companies, I’d turned to the gig economy. To my horror, I discovered that meant forking out for massively expensive babysitters at unreasonable hours. A zero hours contract at Tescos had actually cost me money at the end of the month, with all my salary and some of my last remaining savings going to sitters.     Now I was just shattered at the thought of the months ahead. A psychologist would cost a bomb but there was nothing left to sell. The car had gone first, then the antique clock that had been my grandmother's and finally the 78s, the vintage records that had been Graham's treasures from his grandfather.     All I had left of value was my wedding ring, an antique Cartier that I’d taken off and shoved into my pants drawer because two of the diamond chips had fallen out.     Oh god, do we have to part with it? It’s all we have left of him!      Just the thought made me feel like weeping but I had to pull myself together. Ben’s future was more important.     "What will testing cost?" I asked Miss Maddy fearfully.     "Well, there's the assessment. Last year we had little Siti Menon tested and I think her mum said it set her back -" Miss Maddy mentioned a figure that made me reel.     “If he is, will he need special lessons?” I was praying she’d say not. “Or a special school?”     “We can help,” Miss Maddy assured me.     For a second I breathed again. If the school could pitch in, maybe we’d be okay. I was uncomfortably aware of being a burden, a scrounger on state benefits. Maybe I could help, volunteer for something.      My spirits rose a little but then Miss Maddy whacked me right back down. “But if Ben’s diagnosed, there may be extras like a laptop and special software. Tutoring in coping techniques can sometimes help too.”     She rummaged in her desk. “Let me see about prices. I had a list here from a chat group the other day. I think tutoring classes are charged by the half hour and that they tend to charge about -"     By the time she was done, I felt sick. Even selling my ring wouldn’t raise enough cash.     "But it's all worth it," Miss Maddy finished. "It really does work." Then she put the boot in. "Without intervention, he'll fall more and more behind."     “Can the school help with a grant for testing?” I would crawl through broken glass if they’d help. Sack cloth, ashes, the lot.     Miss Maddy just shrugged helplessly. “I’m so sorry.”     “Or maybe if he needs it, with tutoring?”     That got me another helpless shrug.     I sat in my chair, shell-shocked. I knew that Ben would not get any more attention. It wasn't Miss Maddy’s fault. She simply had too many kids to cope with. The school was already under tremendous strain, with classrooms holding thirty children and sometimes more. Frankly, it was a miracle she'd not just dismissed Ben as lazy.     "I'll see to it," I tried to sound totally cool. "Thank you, Miss Maddy. It's very kind if you to alert me."     Miss Maddy blushed. "It's a pleasure. We all love Ben. He's such a pleasant boy."     She’s a pain in the bum sometimes, Miss Maddy, but her heart is in the right place.     Walking out on to the sunny street, I prayed for a miracle. Maybe the job centre had something new.     "Oh, Mrs Reed," the counter staff knew me by name, I'd been in so often. "There's an opening in Tescos, but it's shift work. Mostly nights and weekends."     "They pay so little that it won't cover the baby sitting," I couldn’t help but moan. "Is there anything that isn't zero contract hours or minimum wage?"     "Nothing that matches your qualifications," the woman said sympathetically.     "A degree in English literature and a year as a glorified intern in a publishing house have prepared me for nothing but benefits." Yes, I was on a total self-pitying grumble fest. "Why didn't I study something lucrative like accounting?"     "Accounting?" One of the office staff popped up, holding a newly printed vacancy notice. "There's a job in Weston Enterprises. It says office manager but they said to give priority to people with bookkeeping or financial management experience."      Weston Enterprises, a top of the line green architecture construction company. I took the posting and read through it quickly. It looked like simple enough work, a girl Friday job that covered office record keeping. It was nine to five, a proper contract and the salary was decent. It was a miracle.     Run! My inner devil screamed. Get there right now! We’ll snaffle this job before some other desperate cow even gets wind of it!     "I'll go straight away!" Then I ran out of the door before anyone could stop me.     It wasn't difficult to find Weston Enterprises. Not only are they one of the richest construction companies in the country, but their headquarters consists of a silvered glass tower. Soaring straight up from a small park, the locals had nicknamed it Minas Ithil after the moon inspired spire from Lord Of The Rings.     I managed to catch a bus that took me straight to the front gate. I blasted through the little park and arrived at reception pink faced and panting. "I've come about the office manager job," I announced.     The receptionist, a pretty little bubble blonde in a blue flowered summer dress, glanced over the job vacancy sheet. "That will be Sam," she chirped brightly. "Top floor. Speak to Caitie. Her desk is in reception."     The executive lift was opulent and made entirely out of glass. As it whisked me into the air, I was treated to a dazzling view of Oxford.The doors opened on an equally stunning vision: Caitie who was working the executive floor reception desk looked more like a fashion model than an office worker.      She was perfect for Minas Ithil. Arwen Evenstar to the life, the girl could be an Elven Ring-bearer, no problem.     Caitie was tall, slender and dressed in an emerald silky shift that looked straight off a Tokyo catwalk. Her glossy black hair fell down her back. It was so long, that it almost reached her waist. Everything about the woman screamed style. Even her nails were perfect; a classic French manicure with white glitter tips.     I took in all the gloss, feeling my toes curl in shame. I would never, ever get a job here. It was amazing they’d even let me in the door.     Her eyes are too close together and she’s probably got hammertoes. Inner me can be a bitch.      “You’re here to see Sam?” The model was abrupt and her voice was rough. She was emptying out her desk, clearly intent on leaving. But she smiled nicely enough and waved me to a plush leather sofa. "Do take a seat."     “Erm, can you point me to the ladies?”     I bolted into the loo instead, took one look at my reflection and squealed with horror. I’d wanted to look smart for Miss Maddy so I’d worn plain black trousers and a navy blue blouse. It was suitably severe, corporate and nobody would guess that my black court shoes were so worn that the left one had a hole in the sole. But compared to Miss Evenstar out in reception, it looked hideously dull.     As for my hair! It’s naturally curly and a dark chestnut that goes well with any strong colour from turquoise to wine. But with me raking my hands through it all morning, it was standing up on end. Sadly, it wasn’t a romantic wild cloud, either.     I’d say porcupine but it has a flavour of puffer fish too, you know, that super poisonous one. Devil me can be mercilessly self critical too.     To add a final horrible touch, my face was scarlet from running. As well as my looking like a freak, it had made my eyeliner run. Instead of sultry, I was looking at racoon eyes.     “You look like Cher - after she’s put her fingers in a socket,” I grumbled at mirror me. “And without the sexy vulpine glamour.”     Repairing the damage, I hastily combed my hair, pulling it back into a well-tamed bun. Running my hands under the cold tap and pressing them against my face, toned down some of the hideous flush.     Waiting for the last of the red to cool away, I stared my reflection. My hair’s okay but I’ve got very ordinary brown eyes, too boring for beauty, a nice straight nose but it’s too big for my taste, and my mouth is too thin. Still, with the black and navy look I was presentable. I reminded myself that this was a job interview, not a beauty competition.      Just as well really because my blouse looked as if I’d been poured into it and my trousers were disgustingly tight. I'd eaten been eating too much cheap stodge recently and had failed to lose my winter pounds as well.     Real women have curves!     It was not a comfort. "Well," I smiled at mirror-me. "At least giving up chocolate means no spots."     Digging in my bag, I realised I was out of eyeliner. My mascara was almost dead, but a drop of water from the tap eked it out. I was almost out of lipstick too but by digging in the bottom of the tube, I made do.     "There," I talked myself up for courage. "Understated, serious and dependable. Totally employable."     There was no way I could compare to the gorgeous PA but seeing this was an admin job, hopefully looks wouldn’t matter.     “You’ll be behind closed doors. Probably in the basement,” I assured myself.     I looked at the job description again.     Must have good organisational skills, communicate well and handle many details and challenging situations at once.      Well, I could handle that. Having once invited Ben’s kindergarten group over to the house for his birthday, there was nothing a company could throw at me that would scare me. Twenty screaming kids had made me immune to chaos and yelling, and it was unlikely the executives would mimic little Kevin and vomit into my handbag or hang on to me so hard that my knickers slid down to my knees like they had with that minx Seema.     Must be conversant with Microsoft Office packages including Word, Excel and PowerPoint.     Proofing manuscripts had made me an ace at editing, and I’d taken a course in PowerPoint at the Job Centre, just to improve my CV. My Excel skills were basic but I’d be fine after a bit of quick extra tutoring. All jobs have a learning curve. I could get up to speed in the evenings in the first week or so.     Includes responsibility for liasing with vendors to ensure that orders are fulfilled as requested, invoices are paid and refunds or exchanges are processed.     That sounded like it took common sense. Also, fighting with the plumber, the electrician and three roof contractors had made me an expert in negotiation. And with the plumber being a foul-mouthed Geordie, I’d not be knocked sideways by construction worker swearing either.     Must hold a degree in business administration and have at least two years relevant corporate experience.     Ouch. Now that was a stumbling block. I knew full well that a degree in English Lit would not be an acceptable substitute. But perhaps they were flexible on that.     Human resources were always trying to filter applicants by box ticking, I told myself firmly. And anyway, figuring out our finances and living on the edge for seven years had to count for something.     I took one last look in the mirror, straightened my shoulders and walked out, straight into a firestorm.     “Caitie, my own bloody PA is cleaning out her desk right now!No notice!” The roar blasted out of the carpeted executive offices, ringing around the building. I flattened myself against the wall instinctively. “Family issues, she says! Her bloody sister had a kid and Caitie feels she has to run off and play nanny!”      “Can we offer some leave instead?” a much more reasonable voice asked. “Negotiate?”     “Seeing she’s been late every morning this week, and skiving off early, I told her to get out and not come back!” angry voice fumed.     “Oh dear. And I came to tell you that Suze has given notice too.”     "Whaaaaaat?" The loud angry voice echoed down the corridor, practically shattering the delicately tinted windows.     "She has a baby, Curtis. She decided being a mum was more important than a career."     "She told us when she applied for the job that she was a career woman!"     "Yes, but she changed her mind. It’s not a total disaster, we can replace her."     "Can we? We're still looking for a press relations exec too!" The voice was fuming. "One who won't give zero notice after falling in love with a bloody tourist and emigrating to Australia!"     “Right, Anya,” the unfortunate Sam said. "Well, it was unusual, and rather romantic, I thought."     "Romantic? It's disruptive and it costs a fortune to interview and recruit!" The anger was running freely, his voice ringing around the hall. "Babies, family issues and bloody husband hunting! They preach bloody equality but it’s all take and no give!”     “Oh come on. We’re just hitting a bad patch.”     “I've had it, Sam! From now on, no more women!"     "Curtis, I appreciate you're angry but you know you can't do that. Discrimination is illegal."     "Illegal? What about quitting with no notice? Three of them in one week!”     “It’s unprincipled but we can’t exactly chain them to their desks.”     “Unprincipled? It’s bloody robbery! Look at Suze! At the interview she went on and on about how she wanted a career, yet she married some banker a month later.”     “Well, it’s not a crime.”     “Isn’t it? She had a worthless bloody degree that qualified her for nothing when she started. I spent six months training her up, then she fell pregnant. She took her sick leave and her holiday, both of which I paid for. Then she vanished for the best part of a year on maternity leave, which I also paid for, and now she goddamn quits!"      The roar reverberated through the hall. I shivered, frozen by the rage.     "Yes, it's unfortunate-"     "Unfortunate? It bloody well cost me a fortune!"     “Yes, I know.”     “Two years and I’ve not had an ounce of work out of her!”     “Yes, but -”     “You said I can’t fire her but now she can just leave?”     “Yes.”     “Can I sue her for compensation?”     "No. It doesn’t work that way.”     “Can I sue Caitie for walking out with no notice?”     “Actually, no.”     "Fine. In that case, no more women."     "But Curtis -"     I snuck down the hall, back into the waiting room, now empty, and then sat trembling. Curtis, the voice had said. That roar had been Curtis Weston, CEO of Weston Enterprises. I’d read about him often.     Curtis was one of our local lions. An inspirational architect, the creator of the glass Minas Ithil tower and winner of several awards, including a coveted RIBA for innovation in architecture. He was a local boy who had built up a billion pound fortune, and everyone in Oxford was proud of him.      In interviews he'd seemed pleasant if rather driven. Now I was changing my mind. Curtis Weston only cared about his business. He didn't have a clue that life, love and family can change lives and priorities.     It was unfortunate that he was losing three of his staff at the same time, but being stinking rich, he could just replace them. Curtis Weston’s reaction was completely over the top.     "Mrs Reed?" A tall friendly looking man with sandy hair and a slightly rumpled brown suit stood before me. "I'm Sam Jefferson, human resources director." He had a warm smile and a firm handshake. "You're awfully quick! I only sent the job spec an hour ago."     I smiled, "I like to be efficient." Game on, right?     "Right," Sam was looking me over. With a sinking heart I could see he was noting the lack of jewellery, well-worn shoes and probably my worried eyes too. Oh crap. The Job Centre probably sent him my CV.     “Penguin Publishing!” Well, that’s impressive!” Yes, Sam was checking out my past. My heart was plummeting into my gut again.     Smile and flash our boobs, my horrible self is shameless. Think of Ben! If it helps get us the job, it’s worth it!     God to be reduced to this! I did have a promising start in Penguin but then there was a telltale year long gap, and then the dratted thing was littered with zero hour jobs. The whole thing reeked of loser.     "Cashier at Tescos, driving for Uber, and part time cleaner for the Royal Bank," Sam said warmly. "You're versatile and not afraid of hard work. You’ve been taking short courses too. Excellent!"     He was going to turn me down! The despair just blasted through me. He wanted a competent professional with years of experience, not a run down single parent. Especially with Curtis Weston ripping into him just minutes before.     I’m a lame duck mum, I thought.     The money I needed was receding before my eyes. In a flash I could see Ben being left further and further behind, with me standing uselessly on the sidelines, unable to help him.     Fight, you stupid cow!     "I'm organised and used to coping with problems," I said quickly. "I enjoy challenge and I'm a fast learner."     "Yes, I can see that," Sam said gently. I could tell he hated this part of his work, telling desperate job seekers they were out of luck. Sam seemed a kind man, one of the best. He was probably thinking that Curtis Weston would kill him if he hired me. I wasn't even remotely a fit for the job either, or any job they had probably.     "Mrs Reed, I'm very sorry but -"     "The Royal Bank were very pleased with me," I interjected desperately. It wasn't a lie. The manager had complimented me on my sparkling clean corners and floor waxing.     "Sam, can I borrow Jenny?" Curtis put his head around the door. "I've got a pile of correspondence and I’m busy with that presentation for Fitzsimmons -" he stopped abruptly and stared at me. “Oh,” he said crisply. “Hello.”     He was much taller than I’d imagined. Curtis Weston was easily six feet, with narrow hips and long legs contributing to an overall impression of lean grace. He moved swiftly, every move economical and purposeful. It was sexy as hell; panthers had nothing on this man.     The strong regular features were good too. Short brown hair, brown eyes and a light tan from working outside set off sparkling white teeth, small nose and slanting cheekbones.     Oh sweet mother of god, YUM! He’s stunning! Want! Want! Want!      I ignored my suddenly thumping heart. Okay, what am I lying for? The thumping was way lower down in my body.     Good looks and ohmilord just look at the window dressing!      The expensive suit was definitely more than an off the rack at some high-end fashion house like Armani or Cardin. No, this was pure Savile Row. It was hand made and beautifully tailored to highlight the sinewy physique and the expensive black material screamed money. So did the crisp blue shirt and the navy and red tie.     My knees were going liquid just looking at him. He was damn gorgeous.     Lean, dark and sexy, just like we like them, inner me moaned. And seeing he built this business up from nothing, he's also bright and hard working.     I had to agree. If we’d met at a party, I'd have made the most horrendous pass.     The thing about all that beauty and grace is that I suddenly became aware of less than glorious me. Horribly aware of my clothes, too worn to impress and definitely straining at the seams, I sucked in my tummy. I really had to lose some weight.     Like chop off three inches all the way round. Or industrial lippo-suction.     I was also cursing myself for my haste. Instead of rushing over, hoping that being first would snag me the job, I should have made an appointment, done my hair properly, dressed better and looked the part.     Investing in some new shoes might have been a good move too. I could feel the unseen hole in the sole burning into my foot.     "You're applying?" Curtis spoke swiftly, with a light, clipped tone.     Say something!      But I was tongue-tied, suddenly shy of all that gorgeousness right in front of me.     “This is Emma Reed,” Sam said quickly. “She’s here for the office manager job.”     Curtis stepped forward and I caught a whiff of his aftershave: leather and orange. It promised warmth and excitement. I could feel myself flush.     He’ll have a lean body with long ropey muscles. Those arms will curl around us, sexy and hard. Totally delicious.      I mentally shook myself and told myself to focus. Curtis Weston was clearly out of my league, just like the job but oh my God, if only I could take him home as a consolation prize!     You still haven’t spoken, moron!     “Hello!” It was supposed to come out cool and competent but I sounded like Minnie Mouse. I cleared my throat, adding, “Nice to meet you.” Hell! Now I was Billy Goat Gruff!      Curtis Weston nodded briefly. “How do you do.” His voice was cool to the point of cold.     He was looking me over. I suddenly had the impression that I was standing under a searchlight. Every inch of me felt hot and exposed. The hazel eyes ran over me swiftly. This was a man who was quick in everything, from mood to decisions. And by the pursed mouth I could feel him judging my worn shoes and lack of gloss.     The image of Caiti, the supermodel in the emerald sheath, rushed back into mind. Yes, the slightly contemptuous gaze told me Curtis Weston thought I wasn't up to par.     He wasn't gos, I turned to Sam. "As I was saying, Mr Jefferson, the Royal Bank was pleased with my work. They did say they might have another opening, so if you've other candidates-"     "The Royal Bank?" Curtis interjected. "You worked there?"     "Yes, and for Tesco, and Penguin publishing." I decided I'd lay it on thick. I'd never get the job, Sam Jefferson would know I was misrepresenting myself, but at least I could walk out with my pride intact.     "Are you married?" Curtis asked abruptly. "Or intending to get pregnant soon?"     "Curtis!" Sam was red with annoyance. "For God's sake!"     "Oh, I don't mind," I said sweet as honey. "Let me tell you, Mr Weston, that I am not married, and do not intend to marry. Frankly, I have no interest in men!"     "Excellent!" Curtis said promptly. "You're hired!"Facebook | Newsletter